Mirror Mirror
by Alba Aulbath
Summary: A scavenging attempt goes awry, causing Krok to see familiar faces but quickly realize how far from home he really is.
1. Years of Bad Luck

CHAPTER: ONE - "Years of Bad Luck"  
>CONTINUITY: Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW Comics; Shattered Glass<br>RATING: PG-13 for various bits of mention of robot gore. Do expect canon-level of gore throughout this story.  
>SUMMARY: The war is not so over in some places, and Krok's crew is a little different than expected.<br>DISCLAIMER: None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and the fact that the Scavengers don't receive nearly enough attention as they ought to.

NOTE: This story has been proofread by many people, including my friends Mindy and Ty. Thank you both for all of your feedback; it would not be what it is without either of you. I also want to acknowledge evilcleverdog on tumblr for your brilliant idea for the Shattered Glass variations of the DJD and letting me use your idea.

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><p>It's a tough choice to determine whether or not Krok is appreciating the fretting that Fulcrum has going on with him. The attack from the Decepticon Justice Division hasn't been that long ago and the repairs on his face took a little while to be fixed. It isn't perfect, Krok is fully aware of that, but it's improved. He can walk around and his optics function. The battlemask hides most of the actual damage anyway and he can bear everything else. The more he physically expresses, the more painful it is, so he's just careful to try to not to show anything outside of tone of voice. So perhaps Fulcrum's worry is warranted, but it's a tad unusual from another Decepticon.<p>

"Krok, look, I'm just not sure I'm... I'm real keen that, uh," Fulcrum wrings his hands. "Are you sure you're okay to do this?"

"I've been scavenging in worse conditions." Krok exhales slowly, careful to not push his vents too hard.

"Gee, thanks. That makes me feel all the more secure about this."

Krok places a hand to Fulcrum's upper arm. "Listen, I get it. You feel bad about what happened. But you didn't kill Flywheels and you didn't get my face torn off."

There's a small huff from the K-Con's vents. "I sure feel like I set it in motion."

"It was the D.J.D.; I'm not interested in who you were before we found you. Whatever you did is done, and you stuck by us when you didn't have to. There's nothing for me to forgive. Got it?"

There's an uncertain glance from Fulcrum, then eventually he sighs and looks away. "Yeah. All right. Just... be careful?"

"I will be. Let's move out, hm?"

There's one last wary noise from Fulcrum as Krok turns away and begins to head down to the cargo bay with the technician following closely behind. Their find this time could yield some interesting results. It's a fairly humbly sized site, admittedly, and Krok isn't sure what it used to be for. It's Decepticon in origin. That's enough for him.

"Still not sure how I feel about you bunch bringing Grimlock onto our ship," Krok offers up as a different topic, not wanting attention drawn to his injuries.

In response, Fulcrum gives a helpless shrug. "He's kind of just been minding his own business ever since we dragged him along. I don't think Misfire's wrong particularly about bringing him, either."

The cargo bay doors open, and Krok leads the way as they step out. The lab site is located on a desolate moon, out in the middle of no where, which will hopefully give them the opportunity to be able to find some halfway decent material inside. Maybe. The exterior seems hastily assembled, not particularly impressive, which usually means something good might have been left behind.

As the both of them step into the building, they're met with an ordinary hallway with teal walls and rust creeping down from the corners.

Krok comments to Fulcrum, "I'm just a bit twitchy at the thought of having an infamous Decepticon killer on board. Call me paranoid."

"Can't say I blame you," Fulcrum replies with a nervous laugh. "But he's been behaving himself so far. Hell, Misfire's got him playing board games sometimes. Not that he's very good at it."

"Misfire or Grimlock?"

"Doesn't matter," Fulcrum muses.

Krok snorts in amusement, then flinches at the pain that shoots through his face. There's a mumbled apology from the K-Con, but Krok just shakes his head.

The pair of them make it inside to the main room where the remaining three members of their crew have already started to pick away. The abandoned lab's interior is much like its exterior: not overly impressive, but Krok doesn't doubt it has some hidden goods that they could make use of.

Krok glances over his crew that's present and working. While Spinister's unsurprisingly interested in whatever medical equipment's been left over, Misfire's busied himself with investigating some strangely colored vials. Briefly, Krok considers telling the jet to not ingest any of the contents, but suspects it's probably too late. He sighs, then glances in Crankcase's direction as the mechanic tries to get a computer back online.

"Give him a hand?" Krok directs Fulcrum to the pilot. The technician nods and jogs over to assist Crankcase.

As Krok moves on to check with the others, he hears the pair of them immediately begin to interact.

"Piece of scrap," Crankcase grouses. "We'd be better off just gutting it for parts. The cables are frayed!"

"C'mon, that's the easy way out. We could replace the cables and figure out if the power still even works in this place," Fulcrum points out. "Aren't you curious about what information's stored on these computers?"

Crankcase snorts. "And from the sounds of it, you're already completely invested in what could be on them. Aaaand you're nodding, so that's a yes. You realize the last time we got curious about something left behind we found a Dynobot."

"Hey, just think of it this way: if we found Grimlock last time, maybe we'll find a Phase Sixer now," Fulcrum jokes.

"Yeah, I'm gonna hope not. Help me gets this scrap replaced and I'll find the power source."

Briefly, Krok glances over the tables. They don't have much in the way of equipment, or at least anything that Krok can find immediately useful. Not that he feels he'll be the best judge of that right off the bat, and that's why Crankcase and Fulcrum are present: of anyone in his crew, they're the most technically gifted, and the best pair to tell him what's potentially useful and what's not in regards to what's been left behind. Otherwise, it all looks like senseless objects to him. The only thing that really sticks out immediately is one device left in a corner: there are steps leading up to it, and it basically looks like a giant metal hoop standing vertically.

Huh.

Krok shrugs and turns his attention to Spinister, checking on his medic. "Locate anything worthwhile?"

Turning around, Spinister says enthusiastically, "I found a jar full of eyes!"

Krok just pats Spinister on the arm almost proudly. "That's a good find. Keep looking."

"Yep." Spinister immediately turns his head back to his work, sorting through some boxes that were left behind.

Krok goes on to busy himself with other objects that have been left behind. There are some datapads, but they're cracked, broken, and basically useless, even to them. A shame. He crouches to some of the lower drawers at one of the workstations, giving it a tug. The drawer remains where it is, stubborn and stuck. Figures. Krok gives it a firmer yank and finally it pulls out.

The contents are not what he expects. There are badges in here, more than a few. One red Autobot badge, a few purple Autobot badges, a couple of the typically colored Decepticon ones, and several red Decepticon badges. That's a bit unusual if somewhat forgettable.

"Oh, nice!" Snatching the badge out of the drawer, Misfire holds up a red Decepticon badge. He squints one optic before holding it up to his wing. "What do you think, Krok? Goes with my paint job or what?"

"I think you probably shouldn't change your colors," Krok says flatly.

Across the room, Crankcase snorts and says, "Yeah, you'll just confuse Spinister!"

"Confuse me with what huh?" Spinister perks up, looking successfully confused.

"Yeah, no." Krok gingerly plucks it out of Misfire's fingers. "Back to work."

"Fine, fine." Misfire sighs dramatically before heading back to a crate of beakers and bottles.

There's a pause as Krok glances down at the badge in his hand and he peers at it, as if trying to convince the object to tell him what the hell this is about and if it means anything.

It doesn't really tell him anything.

The lights suddenly flicker on, which tears a panicked snarl from Spinister, nearly causing him to drop a jar from his hands. Krok puts a hand to the medic's arm to try to steady his reaction.

"There! I'm surprised there's any power left in this place," Crankcase says, dusting off the console that he and Fulcrum have managed to successfully turn on.

"That means there should be a generator somewhere," Krok realizes, "Crankcase, find it. When we're done here, I want it."

"Fine, fine," Crankcase grumbles, marching off to investigate further into the complex.

"Fulcrum, mind trying to figure out what this place was for?"

The K-Classer shrugs. "I'll try. I don't know that it'll do us much good. What are you looking for, Krok?"

"Just getting an uneasy feeling." Krok tosses the badge back into the drawer. "My instincts are usually not that off."

Misfire sniffs the contents of a large beaker, "Well, no offense, but most of the scientists I've ever met are usually crazy. I knew one that was obsessed with bees and would make nothing but cyberbees all day long. Cyberbees full of viruses, cyberbees with cameras, cyberbees with little mini-missiles, cyberbees just because why not - that sort of thing."

Krok isn't about to deny that most of them have a habit of being unsettling. He approaches Fulcrum as the technician gets to work typing in commands to the console he and Crankcase managed to get working. As Fulcrum concentrates on the screen, Krok wordlessly puts his hand onto his shoulder.

"This might shock you, but this is one of Shockwave's old sites," Fulcrum points out, sounding stunned. He pauses for a moment, as if he needs to let that fact sink in for himself before he can continue. "Anyway, um. He had some other assistants with him. Astroscope and Spanner. Doesn't look like Shockwave's left behind much in the way of notes. I might be able to pull up something, though."

Krok gives an intriguied grunt. "Try."

"All right." There's a glimmer of excitement and anxiety in Fulcrum's optics. The technician's inherently curious, but getting a chance to touch some of Shockwave's infamous data and projects is undoubtedly both fascinating and worrying to the K-Con. He squints in thought as he continues to work. "Hm. Most of it's encrypted or deleted. All I can really get out of it is that they were working on a way to trace Metrotitans and copy their teleportation ability. Space bridges and the like, but... something else happened and that got Astroscope's attention." There's a look of sincere interest on Fulcrum's face as he continues to investigate the screen and whatever data the console can provide him. There's a mechnical hum in the room; Krok writes it off as the fans running in the main console.

"Well?" Krok prompts Fulcrum.

"Right. Sorry. While they were working, something else happened that wasn't anticipated. Hold on, I'm trying to recover some more details." Fulcrum trails off, working on glancing through notes until he can get a clarified answer.

The lights flicker, catching everyone's attention and Spinister giving a startled, displeased noise. Fulcrum turns to face Krok, about to say something as the humming behind the historian gets louder.

Then Fulcrum looks startled. "Krok!"

"What?" is all that Krok can say before a blast of pain runs through his body without any explanation. His face feels like it is on fire. Krok can't even manage to make a sound, but the heat rushing through his frame feels strong enough to melt his plating.

He blacks out.

It must have been temporary, because by the time he comes to a pounding ache is beating throughout his helm, right down to his processor. The pain spreads into his optics, sending little spikes of discomfort through his body. Maybe Fulcrum was right, maybe he was pushing himself too much and he ended up passing out. He isn't sure, honestly, but he feels like maybe something hit him.

Sometime during when he'd gone unconscious, his radio link had triggered on. Krok can feel it in his wrist, and he can hear the static-filled voices of his crew.

"_Lost sight of him_." Misfire, sounding a little more serious than usual. Something really off must have happened.

"_Are you fraggin' kiddin' me?_" Fulcrum, his tone furious.

Spinister's voice chimes in with, "_Well, unless he suddenly developed a sense of humor-_"

Eventually, they end up bickering over the radio. That in itself isn't unusual, but something feels off about it. Mannerisms in their voices, but it's probably just him thinking too hard about it. Either way, he's glad to hear them. Relief settles in. Krok's arm twitches as he tries to reach for his commlink. It's a struggle, and his voice sputters out barely anything other than static. "Kh- ah-"

"_Where th' frag are ya?!_" Fulcrum demands over the radio signal.

Words can't be pronounced. Something garbled it up. Spinister did tell him that the repair done was delicate and he should be careful. Fulcrum was right, he really was pushing it. He can't emit much other than noise. Krok's optics brighten a little and he turns his head slowly and painfully.

This is definitely not the lab.

The street he's in is a mess. Most of the buildings look demolished or ready to crumble. It's an absolute warzone. It's not unlike the beginning of the war, something Krok remembers it well. Only, it seems worse somehow; there are chasms into the streets, and fire spews forth, as if the planet itself is in fury due to what state it's in. Slowly dusting down from the billowing flames like fresh snowfall are ashes. They land calmly on his plating, collecting slowly in a humble pile.

The familiar scent of burnt metal and sulfur fills the air along with the heat. As Krok looks around slowly, he recognizes this decimated street. It's one of the roads that belong in Harmonex. The architecture of what remains of the buildings gives that much away to Krok.

If that's true, though, then that means he's on _Cybertron._

How the hell did he end up back here? The only thing that he can fathom is maybe he passed out in the lab. Maybe the crew had to carry him back. Could he have been unconscious for the whole ride back to Cybertron?

It's a stretch of an idea, but Krok isn't sure what else to believe right now.

"You had him in your sights last! Where is he?!" That's a voice he distinctly does not recognize, and it's coming not too far from where he is. There's a noise that comes afterward, like someone hitting metal.

Krok can only groan out a confused sound, struggling as he tries to force himself up. He can hear a few pair of footsteps approach, but he doesn't have the strength to turn his head and look up at who it might be. Eventually, he doesn't have to when a figure stands over him.

The lighting of the fire must be messing with his optical sensors.

There's a distinct glint of gold plating, well polished and taken care of. Vanity illuminates from this particular individual, which is shocking considering who it is. Krok never knew him very well, but he never took Ambulon as one who cared that much about his appearances.

Despite his injuries, Krok does his best scowl at the traitor.

Calmly, Ambulon looks down at him with red optics. There's a pause, then he takes out a pistol and levels it to Krok's forehead, making the Decepticon twitch, still unable to move. "If I wasn't completely sure that Optimus Prime would have me killed for it, I'd just finish you off here," Ambulon states, looking mildly annoyed. "But I'm not an idiot." He turns his head and calmly motions for his company to approach his way. "First Aid, over here."

Ambulon's company swiftly approaches. Looming over Krok are two other Autobots. One that he certainly does recognize and only an idiot Decepticon wouldn't: Whirl peers down at him, but seems generally disconnected at the situation, either bored or just resigned despite the clear dent in his head that looks relatively fresh. He looks a bit different than Krok remembers, but reformats and paint job switches happen. Whirl seems to have taken up an appearance with mostly white plating and a few red accents here and their, but it's still _Whirl. _

Next to him is a shorter Autobot who Krok assumes is First Aid. He's not terribly intimidating by appearance, but Krok isn't about to judge him immediately by that alone. The Autobot generally has dark gray and black paint with some sharp green along his shoulders and parts of his helm, and his visor glows a vibrant red. His expression is generally hard to read on account of his visor and faceplate, but Krok isn't getting a good gut feeling about him.

All three of them have purple Autobot badges. The color change is noted, but frankly doesn't matter. No matter the color, they're definitely not friendlies.

"There he is," First Aid murmurs, and Krok immediately connects that his voice is the one that was shouting before. He rests his hand to Whirl's shoulder.

Ambulon gives a wry look to First Aid. "I can't tell if your assassin either did incredibly well or needs to be more thorough."

"No no, this is much better than I hoped for." First Aid gives a soft laugh. "Whirl, pick him up."

Immediately obeying, Whirl grabs Krok by the arms, holding onto him tightly with his claws. To his dismay, Krok finds that he can hardly move, and instead is almost completely limp in Whirl's hold. He gives an irritated grunt and flinches in the Autobot's hold, but he can't do much else.

Leaning in close, First Aid quickly observes Krok. "Your injuries have left you burnt out. Your nerve endings will recover and you'll be able to move. Eventually. But not for quite sometime."

First Aid pauses as Krok's radio link comes to life again. As Spinister's voice comes through, Whirl distinctly stiffens up, his grip tighter. "_Captain! C'mon, please speak up! I was just kidding about the sense of humor thing, haha! But I'm totally serious now, where_-"

"Let's just take care of that," First Aid murmurs, placing his hand over the link. Despair starts to sink in as First Aid forces it to shut off, completely cutting Krok off from his only hope of rescue.

Whirl seems to relax somewhat when Spinister's voice stops coming through. Reaching up, First Aid runs his fingers over the dent in Whirl's helm. "You understand why I hit you, don't you? Of course you do," First Aid murmurs. "If you do well, I'll fix it when we head back."

It earns no verbal response from Whirl, but his single optic does flicker.

"You'll want to head back before his crew gets any ideas," Ambulon points out. "I can stay behind and cover you for now."

"You're too kind." First Aid snaps his fingers at Whirl. "Come on. Back to Garrus-2."

Turning off his radio link had sealed the deal that he was trapped, but the order First Aid gives to Whirl only seals his fate. As Krok watches First Aid transform into his vehicle mode and drive off, he realizes that he's stuck. He's been captured by the Autobots, and there will be no rescue. Loyal as his crew is to him, they would never succeed in finding him in time and saving him.

He's on his own, and that does not comfort him.

Whirl suddenly tosses Krok in the air. A sputter of startled static is earned and Krok expects to hit the street, but the Autobot is fast; Whirl leaps into the air and transforms into his distinct helicopter mode, keeping his arms extended in order to snag Krok midair into his claws. It leaves Krok facing down at the ground as they fly up and follow First Aid. On one hand, it gives him a good overview of the battle scarred area. On the other hand, he's definitely far less than thrilled to be held up like this. Krok is just Krok, a monoformer with no ability to transform and save himself.

Suffice it to say, he's trying his best to ignore the slight hint of terror in his mind that he's this high up from the ground in the clutches of a deranged Autobot.

From this angle, he can confirm his suspicions for sure. If there was any bit of doubt that he was on Cybertron, he can tell for certain now. The strangest point to him is that despite the message that they clearly received about the war being over, it's _still_ marching on here. How much time passed while he was unconscious? Are they back to fighting?

He doubts he'll receive many answers from the Autobots, even if he had the strength to ask.

As they continue to fly, Krok can see a large facility that they're approaching. The shape vaguely reminds him of Garrus-1 on Luna 2, so the impression he's taking away from this is that this must be Garrus-2. A large set of walls surrounds the octagonal building, tall and proud as any mountain. There are some distinct cracks and damages, but nothing quite noteworthy that would imply weakness.

As they start to dip down closer, he can see several Autobot soldiers patrolling silently outside. Gradually, Krok is starting to get the impression that this is more of a fortress than it is a prison.

Once again, Whirl throws him in the air. After transforming back to his root mode, he catches Krok by the arms, his grip tight and unyielding just as before, even though there isn't even a bit of a chance of Krok escaping him. Not unlike before, he's too weak to properly lift his head or do much of anything, so his gaze is primarily directed towards the ground. He can look around in his peripheral vision, but no more than that.

Driving up near them, First Aid transforms and falls into step smoothly. Turning on his radio link, he commands with, "Red Alert, get the security doors open and have Perceptor arrange Krok's new quarters."

The single order starts to cause the giant, thick security door in front of them to start to open. It's slow and agonizing, forcing Krok to truly dwell on his situation. The more it opens, the closer Krok is to realizing he's going in there and probably never coming out again.

"_Perceptor still hasn't returned yet_," Krok hears a voice inform First Aid over the radio link. "_For that matter, neither has Atomizer._"

"Then I guess you'll just have to get Fortress Maximus to do it himself," First Aid replies flatly.

Once the door is finally open, First Aid is the first one to step inside towards the second set of doors. Closely, Whirl follows, and Krok cringes at the sound of the security door shutting and locking behind him, cementing his presence at Garrus-2. The second security door opens a little more quickly in comparison to the first, allowing them to step through much more promptly.

The first thing Krok notices is the distinct and clear sounds of people screaming. Joined with that is muffled laughter, but it's the way the shrieking sounds that makes Krok's plating crawl. He can smell freshly spilled energon bleeding out of someone, a scent that he knows well from both war and scavenging alike. His head is tipped down, and considering the smells and sounds, he isn't sure he even wants to look up anyway.

First Aid isn't having any of that, it seems.

"Don't be rude, Whirl." First Aid leans closer, murmuring his command, "Show Krok our decor."

The tip of a claw presses under his chin, tipping Krok's gaze up.

Krok has witnessed several violent things in the war, and thereafter. That doesn't mean he's been dulled to it, and it certainly doesn't mean he's experienced everything. With wide optics, Krok looks on. There's plenty of activity in the courtyard, and he doesn't even know where to start - not that he wants to, but he takes everything in. Dangling over the walls are corpses, hanging from chains and hooks. They've been there awhile, apparent by the old stains of when fuel had once been bleeding from them. Pikes have been set up along parts of perimeter, more as a decoration than anything else. That much is obvious with the several heads of dead Decepticons that have been speared onto them.

That alone is enough to make his spark skip a pulse or two, but he can see at the other end of the courtyard where Autobots are laughing to themselves, nudging each other in a friendly manner as they casually work on brutally peeling off the plating of a Decepticon that's been pinned down to the ground, spikes through his hands and feet. The Decepticon is screaming, and he isn't the only one. Not by a long shot, not when Krok can see another one being slowly torn apart by machinary operated by other Autobots. Even if Krok decided to shut off his optics, he would not be able to block out their shrieks from the mutilation they cannot escape from. The entire courtyard is a means of torture and horrific execution, and little else.

A weary, pained vent of air escapes Krok with a troubled groan. He can't express his distress much more than that, but it feels like his spark chamber is practically quaking.

First Aid laughs softly, leaning in to murmur into Krok's auditory sensor: "We decided to make a few more changes to the place since the last time a Decepticon broke out of here. I think it helps with morale, don't you?"

Krok flinches trying to move his head away from First Aid. He fails.

"Take him down. Pharma will set him up. I'll make sure to join you soon after I have a talk with Optimus Prime." First Aid gives a light pat to Whirl's shoulder. "You did well, Whirl."

There's little reaction from Whirl, or at least nothing that Krok can decipher from his position. First Aid departs for now, but it doesn't bring any amount of relief. Not when Krok knows how well trapped he is.

When Whirl moves, he turns to the right and starts to head towards one of the buildings set up in the courtyard. Another pair of doors open for them on cue, allowing Whirl to step inside with Krok in his grip. Here, it's a short hallway but it feels like a long crawl. The walls and ceiling feel cramped to Krok, downright claustrophobic, though the fact that he knows he's caught inside of this prison with a seemingly mute Autobot warrior likely doesn't do much to help with that feeling. Honestly, Krok doesn't know if Whirl talking would help or make things worse at this point.

They approach an elevator. Whirl is quickly elbowing a button to summon and have the doors slide open for them. Even the elevator inside feels too small to Krok. When the doors close after they step into it, it feels like his spark shrivels. Silence hangs in the air as they go down, like a slow fall. Deeper and deeper, and further away from any scrap of hope that Krok had of escaping. He lets out a weary noise. Whirl does not react.

Finally, they hit the bottom and the doors slide open. There's another hallway, just as narrow but far longer. The lightning seems worse down here, and Krok can hear sounds echoing: pained moans and screams and pleas for help from several different voices. It's absolutely haunting.

Not fazed in the slightest, Whirl walks through the hallway. The further they go in, the louder the voices become, and it feels like the sounds crawl all over Krok and dig into him. He can only imagine what the Autobots do to prisoners here considering what he saw in the courtyard.

They come across a fork in the hallway, and Whirl turns to take the leftmost option. Oddly enough, this choice causes them to travel further away from the torturous voices of other prisoners in Garrus-2 crying out in the halls.

Eventually, they stand in front of a pair of thick steel doors. There's a brief tense squeeze from Whirl's claws before he roughly elbows one of them twice, signifying his arrival. Slowly, they part and allow just enough room for both of them to pass through inside into a room.

It looks like this used to be a medibay at one point considering how it's arranged. It's a little more spacious than the hallways have been, though that's a bit of a laughable comparison. There's a single medical slab set up, though it's been arranged inside of a set of thick, strong bars. Medical equipment has been lined up on the wall, as well as some more revised tools. Working on a computer console is another Autobot medic, one that Krok is pretty sure he recognizes.

Then it does occur to him. Another change in a paint job, he assumes. It doesn't really matter, but Krok knows who Pharma is. Only, he's lost his more colorful appearance and most of his plating is colored black with some blue biolights and accents. Additionally, somewhere along the way he's ended up missing a hand, as a good portion of his left arm is a chainsaw. Its weight seems to weigh him down and make him struggle as he moves and types with his right hand.

Pharma looks up with tired optics as he glances between Krok and Whirl for a moment. Then he points to the open cell where the medical slab is. "Go ahead and lock him in place," Pharma instructs cautiously.

There's a tilt of Whirl's head, but the Autobot complies. They turn and Krok is forced to be pinned against the medical slab. Around his wrists and ankles, shackles lock into place, keeping him upright and vertical. After backing out of the cell, Whirl goes to stand beside Pharma. The jet gives Krok a look, then turns his attention back to the console as he punches in a command to lock the cell doors.

"You don't need to wait for First Aid. I can handle this," Pharma informs Whirl, his voice sounding stiff and wary. The only answer that Pharma receives is absolute silence from Whirl, who doesn't even look at Pharma. Sighing, the surgeon starts keying more commands into his computer.

"He'll go when I say he goes," First Aid's voice chimes in.

Pharma flinches before he looks up, watching First Aid approach. "I'm sorry. It's just- his presence unnerves me."

"I promise, he's completely loyal now." A small laugh escapes First Aid. "We've worked out any potential complications. Haven't we, Whirl?"

Despite the conversation clearly mentioning his name, Whirl doesn't move. He doesn't react.

As if to show his point, First Aid grabs onto one of the fins lined up on Whirl's back and gives it a brutal twist. There's a twitch in Whirl's frame. He doesn't exactly_ cower_ before First Aid, but he certainly trembles from the pain of his plating being wrenched in such a way. As much as Krok fears for his own situation, he almost wants to pity Whirl. Almost. Most people regardless of their faction know about Whirl's history with Megatron, so the feeling honestly does not go beyond the inclination. In any case, Krok doesn't enjoy seeing the display.

Pharma's expression doesn't look any calmer then before and instead seems even more uncomfortable. "Right. Of course. I'm sorry for doubting you. I'll get to work on the medical scans."

"Excellent." First Aid sounds quite satisfied. Finally, he releases Whirl and instead starts to approach the cell that Krok is locked in. "Be thorough. I need a full report."

Despite the briefest sensation of sympathy that Krok almost had for Whirl, he's not thrilled to have First Aid's attention. Krok's optics flicker and he squints as equipment power on and lights scan over his body to feed information back to Pharma.

"I'm getting pinged by Fortress Maximus. Should I put him through?" Pharma offers.

"No. Carry on." First Aid shakes his head. "This is more important."

"Understood." Pharma returns to work.

First Aid narrows his visor as he gets closer to the bars, keeping his gaze fixated on Krok. "I thought you should like to know that Optimus Prime is on his way. He would love to have your execution done public, and available for your team to witness. I know that it'll be Prime who finishes you off, but I know how to kill you in other ways, Krok."

His fingers slide up the bars, almost delicately as his fingers curl around them. First Aid leans in, hissing softly, "It was one of your own that caused you to be here. I want you to think about that as time passes, as minutes tick by and we inch closer to your execution. I want you to-"

"This is impossible!" Pharma blurts out, startled by whatever information he's viewing. When First Aid's head whips around to face Pharma, the jet cringes and holds up his only hand. "I'm sorry for interrupting. It was an accident, but this data... you should. You should really have a look at this. I mean, I'm not ordering you to, I'm just suggesting that maybe you ought to consider looking it over?"

There's a pause of silence that hangs in the air. Krok watches the Autobots, uncertain of what's about to happen next. He doesn't know what to anticipate; this lot is clearly unpredictable, and he doesn't know what First Aid even means by all of that! One of his own, his crew caused him to end up getting captured? Unthinkable.

First Aid slowly approaches Pharma, which causes the taller Autobot to cringe and brace himself. The tenseness of the moment continues to hang thickly in the air as First Aid's red visor glows fiercely, staring at Pharma. Suddenly, his fist strikes out, hitting Whirl hard enough in the optic to crack it. As Whirl stumbles back into the wall, Pharma flinches and tries to not look over in Whirl's direction.

"I know," First Aid says, his tone a mockery of being soothing. "I'm not upset with you yet, Pharma. Let me have a read?"

"Of... of course," Pharma sputters out, backing away in order to give First Aid as much room as he demands.

There's a moment of silence as First Aid looks over the screen. Eventually, the glow of his visor dims and he looks more curious than angry. Rubbing his chin, he asks Pharma, "And you ran a check on everything prior to scanning?"

"Yes! Yes, I swear. I looked over_ everything_ to make sure we were in good shape." Pharma's voice starts to sound increasingly more nervous.

"Shh, shh. Pharma." First Aid grabs onto the other medic's wrist, his grip tight. "I believe you. But it still appears as though our scanners are faulty. Krok is still alive after all, so there's no real reason for him to show up as nothing. So, if you did your job as you say, then we'll just have to check him the old fashioned way."

Pharma's eyes widen. "Oh, but... but I'm sure I could run a scan a second time."

"Now, now. Why not put Ratchet's gift to good use?" Gesturing towards the cell, First Aid tells him, "Go on. I'll even open it for you."

Eventually, Pharma's wrist slides free from First Aid's hold. Stiffly, Pharma shuffles over to the cell. Watching carefully, First Aid types in a command to have the door slide open for Pharma. With a wince, Pharma lifts up his chainsaw arm with the help of his right hand, and he starts to come closer.

It then occurs to Krok what First Aid meant.

Hissing out distressed static, all Krok can do is struggle pathetically in his bonds as Pharma inches nearer and nearer. Finally, he presses his chainsaw flush against Krok's chest plating. The look Pharma gives Krok is one of fear and guilt, a strange expression that Krok wouldn't have anticipated from any Autobot in this place.

Pharma whispers, "I'm sorry." It's barely audible.

The chainsaw roars to life and cuts into Krok. Before, all he could do was give bursts of white noise, but it seems as though pain is a great motivator. Krok lets out a scream, his optics widening as he watches the chainsaw rip into his torso. Energon spills and bleeds out, noisily dripping to the floor. It doesn't go far enough in to kill Krok, but enough to go past armor.

In horror, Krok watches as Pharma carefully guides the chainsaw down to continue to rip into him. From collar to hip, Krok's abdomen is cut open in one of the least efficient ways, and all he can do is howl out from the pain shrieking through his body.

When it's done, the chainsaw shuts off and pulls away. Krok feels his body go limp and his senses dull, but he can feel air touching his now exposed gaping wound. Something presses into the gap, and something that sounds like a crank starts to force his chest to open, peeling plating back violently. Krok can only groan before his voice trails off into nothing.

"I... I have no idea what this is," Pharma stammers out. "I think this is keeping him alive."

"Hmm." Krok can hear footsteps as First Aid approaches. A finger presses under Krok's chin, forcing his head up so that his tired optics look into First Aid's visor. It'd be easy to shut off his eyes and cut off the gaze, but Krok remains as defiant as he can afford to be right now.

First Aid turns his attention down to his chest, then gently taps on Krok's spark casing. It makes Krok jerk and hiss, but words refuse to come out. He tries to form them, but he lacks even more strength now.

"I've never seen an ember like this before," First Aid mumbles, sounding intriguied.

_Ember?_ Krok's eyes flicker in confusion, but ultimately he decides it doesn't matter or change things right now.

First Aid continues, "This requires more study. I'll have to see if I can postpone Krok's execution."

There's a strangled, gargling noise coming out of Krok as he feels First Aid's hands groping around inside his chest, exploring it. He can't say a word, he can't even struggle, and First Aid is absolutely invested on his insides. A tremor passes through his frame as skilled hands work in and map him out.

Briefly, Krok is distracted by a creaking noise. What in the hell-?

There's something bursting out of the veiling vent and slamming into the floor. At the sound, First Aid pulls his hands roughly out from Krok's chest, earning a pained groan in return. Tiredly, Krok glances over what's suddenly in the room with them, and his eyes widen. No, this isn't good.

Standing ready on their feet are two very familiar individuals with all of the wrong color schemes. Krok knows them so thoroughly that even silhouettes are enough for him, so the color palette change really doesn't mean anything to him. He can ignore that Misfire is mostly dark green with bright blue optics, though he wonders when the hell he decided to place a targeting visor over his right optic because that sure isn't going to help with the aim. Somewhere, sometime, Crankcase has gotten the head fixed; there is no gaping wound, and now the colors the mechanic sports are purple and pink shades, bright and cheery.

Really, it doesn't mean anything because now Krok is terrified for them. On one hand, he's impressed they snuck in, but now they're just going to die with him. He has no real illusions of them escaping, and he wishes they weren't so blasted loyal to try to get him. It only means they'll suffer with him.

"Get the hell away from 'im!" Crankcase snaps, cradling a shotgun at the ready.

First Aid ducks his helm and dashes out of the way, scrambling to get out. While the Autobot makes a break for it, Misfire is moving smoothly towards Krok. It bewilders Krok to see First Aid reacting with such fear in regards to his crew, but he won't complain.

Cursing loudly, Crankcase fires at First Aid and misses when the Autobot ducks; the shot ends up hitting only the wall while First Aid makes his escape. "Smeltin' son of a glitch-"

Looking almost lost, Whirl stares after First Aid before stumbling after him. "Whirl, wait!" Crankcase cries out after him. The engineer starts to go after the Autobot, but Misfire catches Crankcase by the shoulder and shakes his head. "But... Misfire, are you sure?" Crankcase asks, frowning.

Krok must be out of sorts. Crankcase is asking for advice from _Misfire_. Maybe he's dying. Maybe he's already dead.

"No. We're here for the captain. Much as I would like to see him put down," Misfire responds, his voice cold and detached. Not very like Misfire at all. "Your message was appreciated, Pharma. As well as the location of an entrance we could utilize."

Pharma. Krok slowly concludes what's going on here. Pharma had reached out to his crew somehow to get them in so he can get out. True, maybe Pharma seemed reluctant to be involved in what was going on, but it still surprises him that an Autobot would assist. It's inherently suspicious to him. After all, what does Pharma have to gain from that action?

Krok tries to speak, but white noise hisses out instead. Noticing, Misfire calmly places a hand to his shoulder. "We're getting you out," Misfire tells him. The tone doesn't convey comfort, but he sounds confident enough to state his words as fact.

"I... I can show you the way. I just-" Pharma looks at Crankcase nervously. "Are you sure that the cameras have been scrambled?"

"You ain't got a thing to worry about, Doc. All taken care of by yours truly!" Crankcase smiles reassuringly. Smiles! "Help me get Krok loose, if y'could?"

"Right. I suppose we don't have time to burn." Quickly, Pharma circles around to the main console to assist Crankcase. "Let me just input the code- _there!_"

The shackles holding up Krok suddenly release him. The war historian would have quickly met with the floor painfully if Misfire hadn't been ready to catch him. Gently as possible, Misfire rearranges him so that Krok is draped over his back so that he can at least reach his firearms. That alone greatly concerns Krok. He gives a distressed groan, peering down warily at the pistol in Misfire's hand.

Misfire doesn't even seem to notice.

"Pharma, lead the way," Misfire calls out for the doctor.

At the instruction, Pharma gestures for them, hoisting his chainsaw arm against his own shoulder so it's out of the way as they run. "There's a sewer drainage area that would be the easiest method of escape. It's..." Pharma looks uncomfortable and disgusted. "It's where we end up throwing away a lot of bodies and the energon bled from soldiers."

As they exit the room, Crankcase increases his walking pace to catch up to Pharma. "You're still welcome to come with us, y'know. Fulcrum might pitch a fit, but-"

"No." Pharma looks terrified at the suggestion. "You can't promise I'd be safe. None of you can, and you know it."

Crankcase's optics narrow a little, making him look sullen. It doesn't seem like he has much of a retort for that.

The hallway is familiar all over again, only this time they head down the corridor where the sounds of tortured prisoners moan their distress. Although Krok is jostled painfully by how fast they're running, he doesn't blame them. They don't want to waste anymore time being here and he's definitely on board with that plan.

They stop midway through the hallway, blocked off by a large set of shut and locked doors.

"Smelting son of a-" Crankcase starts to curse.

"I can unlock it! Just give me some time." Pharma pops open a control panel next to the thick doors, immediately getting to work.

"Time is something we're very limited on," Misfire reminds him coldly. "Make it quick."

The doctor focuses as best as he can, punching in the codes necessary to unlock the set of doors. Slowly, the doors start to crank open, but Krok can tell that it won't be fast enough. Despite his own physical weakness, Krok feels his fuel pump constrict and increase its rhythm anxiously.

He can hear footsteps approaching. He doubts it's friendly.

Wordlessly, Misfire turns and raises his pistol, preparing to take fire. That alone makes Krok definitely sure that this will end badly. Strangely, Crankcase doesn't seem worried, and instead the mechanic is making sure to prepare fire as well.

"Heads up, Doc," Crankcase warns.

"I know, I know!" Pharma cringes. He glances at Crankcase, then says, "Point your gun at me, do it now!"

Hesitantly, Crankcase levels his shotgun towards Pharma, just barely resting his finger on the trigger. Still, the way he stands doesn't give Krok the impression that Crankcase has any real intention of shooting Pharma. From what Krok can surmise, Pharma is trying to protect himself and come off as if he was threatened to assist them. Which, strangely enough, doesn't seem to be the case.

As soon as an Autobot comes around the corner, Misfire immediately starts firing. While Krok had been prepared for the worst, what happens next is completely unexpected: the two shots he takes go between the optics of the Autobot, shooting cleanly through his head. The soldier's body collapses to the floor.

That's just absolutely insane. Did Misfire _accidently_ hit his mark that time? It must have been a lucky shot! But Misfire doesn't seem surprised by his own aim in the least. When did he improve?

There's a pause from Misfire, then he shoots the Autobot one more time. "Never too sure," he mutters, mostly to himself before turning his head to speak to Crankcase and Pharma. "There will be more, and that won't be something we can manage in a small hallway like this."

"It won't go any faster," Pharma says, defeated. "This might be enough for us to squeeze through."

"You'll go last," Misfire tells him, walking quickly up to the painfully slow doors that are still gradually opening. He pauses, exercising caution in regards to Krok's well-being and how to arrange him as they pass through the tight passage. The way he's held is closer to a protective embrace as they shuffle between the doors.

Once they're through, he motions for Crankcase. "You're next. Come on."

"Comin'! I hear more 'bots runnin' our way, too," Crankcase warns as he starts to work his way through now.

Misfire frowns a little more, raising his pistol in preparation. Between the doors, Krok can see Crankcase trying to hurry as best as he can while Pharma looks frantic and tries to follow.

But Crankcase is right. They're out of time. Krok watches in dread as more soldiers come around the corner, lifting up their guns and prepared to fire. Pharma whirls around to face them, then raises his only hand.

"Wait-!" Pharma calls out, but he's painfully ignored.

The Autobots don't wait. They start firing, and the first thing to go is how Pharma's hand is torn to shreds by ammo. He doesn't scream, most likely out of shock as he collapses to the floor. Not dead, but injured.

"Crankcase!" Misfire snaps, starting to shoot over the other Decepticon in order to get at the Autobots.

"But what about-" Crankcase starts.

"_Now!_"

Closing his mouth tightly, Crankcase makes it the rest of the way through the doors, looking a bit distressed at leaving Pharma behind to the Autobots. Once Crankcase is through, Misfire nudges him to follow before they take off down the rest of the hall. Over Misfire's shoulder, Krok can observe that the Autobots are starting to squeeze through the doors as well, undoubtedly planning on following them.

Whatever happened to Pharma, Krok isn't sure if he's alive or not. It's impossible to tell from his angle.

"There's supposed to be a sewage passage of some kind. That'll take us out back," Crankcase advises, sounding a little sullen. Why the hell he'd be upset about an Autobot, Krok isn't sure.

Misfire nods as they continue down, raising a wrist to his mouth. "Spinister, bring the ship around to the designated exit. You should see sewage coming out somewhere. That's where we'll be."

Spinister, sounding unusually very energetic and chipper, responds with, "_Yes sir you got it sir! On my way! Man oh man, by the way, I'm really not as good at piloting this as Crankcase, so I'm reeeeeally sorry about all the scratches._"

"Ain't nothin' I can't buff out, Spin," Crankcase promises, looking a little more complacent. "See you in a bit."

They finally make it down to what seems to be a cell block. Dead or dying Decepticons are locked in their own cramped cells, and it earns a familiar twinge of pity from Krok. If he could speak, he'd want to see about freeing them or putting them out of their misery, but with the regretful look Crankcase wears it implies that they don't have time for either.

Misfire stops in front of a grate, tapping his foot on top of it. "It's here."

"I got it," Crankcase mumbles, crouching down and placing his fingers into the gaps of the cover.

As soon as Crankcase successfully pries it open, there's a strong familiar smell wafting up from below. The scent of spilled, old energon bled from a body.

"Go down," Misfire orders Crankcase.

With one nod, Crankcase hops down below. It's dark and Krok can't see just yet what exactly is down there, but he hears a splash when Crankcase lands. Misfire carefully adjusts his hold on Krok, following Crankcase down below. Just as they land, Crankcase lifts up an electronic torch, bringing light to where exactly they are.

They weren't wrong to call it a sewer. The waste products down here seem to primarily be the remains of energon. Down here, this is probably where the Autobots drain their prisoners. Essentially, they're disposing blood into these tunnels. Instinctively, Krok would almost call it a waste, but maybe that's the point. Maybe the Autobots don't even consider their energon worth keeping.

Crankcase pulls the grate cover down, taking a minute to weld it shut. "Ain't much, but hopefully it'll slow 'em down," he murmurs. "All right, so we just go down this way, right?"

"If Pharma was being honest." Misfire starts to make his way down the tunnel, liquid sloshing noisily around his ankles. His body language seems more stiff, as if he's actually disgusted to be down here.

Crankcase sighs quietly, following close. "I really wish we didn't ditch 'im, Misfire."

"He's an Autobot," Misfire says distantly.

"That don't make him all bad. Just kinda bad."

Misfire peers at Crankcase. "Do you want to tell Fulcrum that?"

"I- no." Crankcase shrugs helplessly. "Sorry."

"Your ember is in the right place." There's a pause, as if Misfire is struggling to find the right words to say. Something very uncharacteristic of him. That, and the word comes up again - _ember._ "But we did come for Krok. And just Krok. Remember that."

"I know," Crankcase says, placing a hand on Misfire's arm. "Thanks for hearin' me out a bit. I know what we're here to do."

"Mm." Misfire nods once.

Dim light comes into view the further they go down the tunnel. As they get closer and Crankcase holds out his torch, it becomes clear that it's another grate, but it's on the wall this time. From what little Krok can see from his angle, it seems to lead outside.

A relieved sigh comes from Crankcase, and Krok feels similarly. Maybe they really will make it out of here. The dismal acceptance of his fate from not that long ago seems to have turned around, and even if Krok could speak he honestly wouldn't know what to say. While he was grateful to have his teammates come rescue him, it just didn't seem plausible that they would manage it.

Yet, here they are.

"No time to relax yet," Misfire reminds. "We're still being followed."

"Right." Crankcase grunts as he kicks the grate. It bends the first time, but is successfully kicked off the second round.

Once the grate is gone, there's a clearer view of the outside. From the way they're positioned, Krok thinks that maybe they're at the back of the facility, but he isn't entirely sure. It definitely isn't the front gate, that much he can tell. Not far from where they're standing, he can hear the all too familiar sounds of battle and orders being shouted. In any case, they're still trapped, the wall around the facility blockading them from any exit.

Looking down over where the grate was, Krok can also see that it's a long way down. They'd survive the fall, but not without some injuries. Jumping is not the preferred plan here, clearly.

Misfire peers up at the sky, frowning. Lifting his wrist up, he asks, "Spinister?"

"_I don't think that I can make it! There's too much shooting, you know? I can't bring the ship!_" Spinister answers frantically.

"I understand." Misfire lets out a hiss of frustration. "If I fly over the wall, I'll be too slow to dodge anything. And I can't leave Crankcase behind."

In the tunnel behind them, Krok can hear stomping feet and the distinct splash of liquid as soldiers are undoubtedly charging them from behind. He twitches, static bursting from his vents as he tries to grip Misfire's arm.

"I know." Misfire cringes before he's letting out another command, "Fulcrum! Come into my position. Spinister, draw their attention with the ship if you have to. Crankcase? Hold onto me." Misfire holds out a free arm, putting it around Crankcase's shoulders. Quickly, Crankcase loops his bulkier arm around Misfire's waist.

Tilting all of their weight forward, Misfire grunts and fires up his thrusters on his feet and back alike. It's barely enough to level them out and soften their landing to the ground below, but it's one step closer to possibly escaping.

But they're still distinctly trapped. Krok is too cumbersome for Misfire to fly especially well, and as he mentioned he isn't about to leave Crankcase. Looking up, Krok can see soldiers coming closer to the edge of the sewer. If they stay here, they'll be perfect targets to be shot at.

Immediately, Crankcase brings up his shotgun, shooting relentlessly as Misfire takes a few more precise shots. They don't remain still fortunately, but they aren't making it to cover fast enough.

Crankcase ducks behind a pile of crates, and Misfire goes to follow and misjudges how slowly he moves. A shot clips his helm, causing his head to jerk and for them to stumble into the ground, Krok thrown from his arms.

"Misfire! Captain!" Crankcase shouts, about to rise from his position.

This is it. Maybe it was wrong to become hopeful at the end. They were close, so _close_ to escaping. Krok lets out a ragged vent of air as he watches the Autobots take their aim at them. Even if Crankcase rises to protect them, it'll be pointless. They'll die or worse: be recaptured.

There's a shriek in the air, the noise directly coming from an enormous missile flying overhead. It seems to be targetted at the cluster of the Autobots that are either taking aim or starting to climb down and make their way towards them. Krok stares a bit helplessly; if a missile that size goes off, it'll kill the Autobots but take Krok, Misfire, and Crankcase with it with nothing left but molten scrap.

But the missile transforms and lands on top of one of the Autobots with enough force to cause plating to crunch. The other Autobot soldiers immediately look like they're actually having second thoughts about approaching with at least one of them starting to slowly back off from the new arrival. Standing upright from tackling the soldier earlier and rolling his shoulders back is to his shock-

"Fulcrum!" Crankcase calls out, looking relieved.

Most of Fulcrum's plating color-wise is unchanged, still a bronze hue, but there are some various blue stripes running down his back. For the most part, he's recognizible, especially with that impressive chin, and he even looks like he's still K-Class, just some minor differences. Little wings stick out from upper arms and his back alike, no doubt due to his missile alt-mode. He's bulkier instead of the lanky K-Con he remembers, but Krok does recognize him.

Fulcrum cracks an incredibly smarmy grin, shrugging his shoulders as plating slides open on his arms. Tiny rockets launch from him, exploding into the Autobots right behind him. Not all of them have been successfully blown up, though, and that becomes apparent as a pair of soldiers attempt to take on Fulcrum from behind.

Two shots are fired, precisely shooting the pair of Autobots in the head. Krok glances out of the corner of his optics, seeing that Misfire has recooperated enough to have been able to defend his teammate, but barely. Fresh energon runs down the side of his head where he'd been clipped.

"You're still too careless," Misfire mutters, touching his injury gingerly with his fingertips.

"I'm still walkin', ain't I?" Fulcrum says with a snort as he approaches. Rolling his shoulders back reveals a slot opening itself along his upper left arm. A rocket shoots out, impacting the sewer exit that they utilized before.

"They'll have heard that," Misfire says with a sigh.

Fulcrum barks out a laugh. "Let 'em." After glancing over his shoulder, there's a pleased, low chuckle from the fiery mess, as if he's getting a kick out of it before he comes closer and crouches down to look at Krok. The war historian can only gaze back up with a wide, unsure gaze.

It seems to make Fulcrum bark with laughter before he remarks in a gruff voice, "You look surprised, darlin'."

"How bad is it out front?" Crankcase asks, coming out of cover to help Krok up into a sitting position.

"Not as fun since I left it." Fulcrum shrugs. "Deadlock and Spinister are baiting, but I'm pretty sure that the Autobots know what the hell is going on here. They'll be floodin' out this way soon."

That makes Krok's head spin worse than the injuries on his person. Deadlock. Deadlock is out there, fighting? The way Fulcrum says it makes it seem like that Deadlock is _helping_ them, but why would that traitor ever come assist them?

For the last time, what the hell is going on here?

Misfire stands up, shaking his head and ignoring the injury on his head. "Then we need to move."

"Wow, why didn't I think of that?" Fulcrum says flatly. "All right. I'll make us an exit. Give me some room."

The way Fulcrum walks isn't with caution. The way Krok remembers him, he'd always step around as if he was certain that if he walked wrong something would blow up in his face. Here and now? Fulcrum is practically stomping with confidence, making his way to the wall as he starts removing explosives from his arms and planting them onto the wall.

"We'll need to place a few more on the other side," Misfire points out. "The wall is too thick for that to go all the way through."

"Well then, darlin'. You just leave that to me." A mock salute is given to Misfire before Fulcrum crouches and leaps. Quickly, he transforms back into his missile alt-mode, taking off into the air without any fear.

Misfire gives himself a moment to rub the bridge of his nose before he shakes his head. As he crouches down and gingerly picks up Krok into his arms again, Crankcase approaches from behind.

"You okay with that?" he asks, gesturing to his head.

"It'll be fine. More of a distraction than an injury," Misfire assures.

The moment gives Krok a chance to reflect on this situation. So far, it seems that the rescue has been, amazingly, successful. He still aches, and he knows that his chest is still cracked open, his injuries overwhelming for even most medics. Spinister is a good surgeon, but he knows with their limited supplies that it'll be too much for him. In any case, that's ironically his biggest worry. His main concern are all of the startingly different personalities his crew is suddenly portraying. Crankcase being incredibly cheerful and positive, somehow Misfire is taking the situation seriously, Spinister sounds jovial to the point that Krok isn't even sure it's sincere, and Fulcrum is so _eager_ for a fight. What could have changed his team so drastically?

If they do manage to escape, he'll learn soon enough. All he can really do is speculate.

His thoughts are interrupted by Fulcrum's voice warning them from their shared radio links: "_All right. Keep your distance. I'm gonna activate these bad boys._"

Warily, Misfire takes the advice with Crankcase. They step away from the explosives attached to the wall.

"We're clear," Misfire replies.

"_Countdown. Three, two, and one._"

A fiery explosion rips through the air in front of them, spewing out debris and flames. Shifting his weight, Misfire moves just enough to shield Krok, just in case, but fortunately the worst they all receive are a few angry pebbles bouncing off of their plating. A hastily made tunnel via bombs is now before them, with Fulcrum standing at the other end of the hole. Clutched between two fingers is a cy-gar, and Fulcrum is exhaling smoke from his vents.

"Ta-dah," the K-Con says, gesturing to the smoldering exit.

Misfire takes off through the hole in the thick, protective wall, cautious about where he steps. Activating his radio link, he begins to send out competent commands: "Spinister, bring in the ship. Fulcrum, hold off the Autobots as much as you can. Everyone else, retreat immediately."

"Now _that_ sounds like hell of a time!" Fulcrum grins broadly. "Let's make it fun, darlin'."

Just as Misfire and Crankcase make it out to the other side, Fulcrum is already turning around and facing the battlefield. Here, Krok is able to take a proper look at it as well from the front.

The familiar smells and sounds of weapons firing and soldiers bleeding fill the air. For a small team, somehow they've done incredibly well. Knowing that it's _his_ crew? It's so impressive that Krok isn't even sure that these are the same people. They're all various degrees of clever, but they've never been powerhouses. Not by a long shot. So, to see Fulcrum laughing and taking into the fight recklessly is a foreign thing indeed.

Speeding up to them is a red vehicle with white accents; it transforms, revealing a familiar frame: Deadlock. True to the implications, he wears a Decepticon brand again and he wears various cuts and scorch marks from the fight he's been in. Maybe that's it, that his team was so desperate for help that they accepted Deadlock into their ranks once more? It's an act of treason, but that's not surprising. They do make a habit of using their resources.

"Ahh, there he is! No need to crack up on us, Krok." Deadlock grins and points at his own chest. "But no, seriously, you've looked better. I'm guessing the Autobots didn't quite give you the make-over you were expecting!"

"Not now," Misfire interrupts him.

Lowering from the sky is a sight for sore eyes. The W.A.P. looks familiar, but more sleek and properly equipped. Hell, it even looks downright new in comparison to when he'd seen it last, but it seems smaller than Krok remembers it being.

A platform lowers from the ship, and Krok can see Spinister waiting inside. Most of his plating has been changed around in colors as well, most of him in shades of red. Specifically, his chevron is actually a golden color, making him stand out in a very different way as he lacks his traditional Decepticon paint job.

Quickly, they board onto the platform. Deadlock lets out a loud whistle and shouts, "Hey! 'Splosion Man! Time to bail!"

Fulcrum does pause in his solo attempt to defend them, his arms dripping with spilled fuel that Krok hopes isn't his. Then he crouches and exposes his back, revealing an arsenal of tiny missiles and bombs just before he launches them at the Autobots. Just as he turns away from the following explosions behind him, he flicks away his cy-gar and transforms, flying into the ship.

"That's everyone!" Spinister says, sounding relieved. "Misfire, I can take him."

Gently, Misfire passes Krok into Spinister's arms; behind both of them, Crankcase is dashing away to the bridge where Krok can see him taking the pilot's seat.

They made it. They really made it. It's unbelievable, but Krok is really going to have to commend them for this when he's able to actually speak and move.

"Man they really did a number on you," Spinister says quietly as he marches down the hallway. "We're gonna need fresh energon for him."

"I'll take care of it," Misfire says, slipping away.

As they walk, it occurs to Krok that the interior of this ship really is a little smaller than the W.A.P. It's more narrow, far less rooms. It's more like a transport vehicle than a ship that they can actually live on. Which is definitely odd; how do they expect to travel long distance? In any case, Krok shakes off the thought. That isn't important just yet.

Spinister pulls out a sliding medical slab from the wall, carefully placing Krok onto it. As Spinister starts to examine him, Krok can see Fulcrum impatiently pacing while Deadlock is leaning against the wall close to the K-Classer.

The surgeon peers in close, looking confused at Krok's sliced open chest before he tilts his head.

"Something's wrong with your ember," Spinister murmurs to himself without explaining what an ember even _is._ "Well, that besides a number of other things. Oh, but that doesn't mean that we can't fix you! I'm, uh, just saying. This is pretty strange."

"What's it mean, Spin?" Fulcrum growls.

Spinister shrugs and waves his hand a little in a non-committal way. "Ehhh? I really don't know."

Misfire comes back into view, holding out a tall glass of energon to Spinister. "So what can be done?"

"Well..." Spinister gently helps Krok sit up, tilting the glass so he can start refueling. The taste is crisp, and it flows down his intake smoothly. This is high quality, and Krok is almost downright suspicious about how they got their hands on something so _good_, but for now he just focuses on refueling. "I can give him a basic patch job, but that's seriously it. This ship isn't exactly equipped with a super awesome medibay, you know! Plus, I can't really investigate what's going on with his ember and figure out what the smelt happened to him."

"We don't have time to take him back to the main base," Misfire says thoughtfully, rubbing his chin.

Spinister coughs awkwardly. "You're not gonna like my suggestion, but hey! Here's a thought: why don't we call up Tarn and the others and see if we can use their facility?"

_What?!_ The sheer thought of being anywhere close to Tarn and the others makes Krok choke and sputter out energon. Alarmed, Spinister pulls the glass away and softly pats his back. "Okay, I know you don't like them much, Captain, but we don't have much choice," Spinister tells him.

"The answer is a big _no_," Fulcrum snaps, turning his head and spitting. "We can take care of ourselves. We have for ages!"

"That isn't up to you, Fulcrum." Misfire folds his arms. "Although I know the captain's never favored them terribly, but this is his life at stake. We may not have time to reach Megatron and have their medical station prepared."

"I want nothin' to do with the DJD! They've done enough!" Fulcrum snarls. "Bunch of-"

"Do you want Krok repaired or not?" Misfire asks coldly.

That makes Fulcrum pause, then he looks away sharply. "Yeah. Yeah, of course I do!"

"Then this is what we'll need to do. I'll have Crankcase take us to the Decepticon Justice Division." At the news, Krok gives a distressed noise. Why? Why are they choosing this? They just saved him, and now they want to go back into _danger?_ Misfire ignores him, continuing, "In addition, I'll attempt to reach out to Megatron and see if he can send Starscream our way. We could use all the scientific help that we can get."

No, no, no. This can't be happening. Why are they choosing this? Krok feels his head spinning, and his vents wheeze anxiously. He twitches, trying to struggle, trying to speak.

"Captain, easy. Easy!" Spinister attempts to steady him. "Krok, careful! You have to be careful!"

Krok lets out a groan, his head pounding. He tries to will words to life, to have them emit clearly, to beg them to not take him anywhere near the DJD. The threat of it almost physically pains him! He hisses, feeling his frame tremble.

He loses consciousness.


	2. Time to Reflect

CHAPTER: TWO - "Time to Reflect"  
>CONTINUITY: Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW Comics<br>RATING: PG-13 for various bits of mention of robot gore. Do expect canon-level of gore throughout this story.  
>SUMMARY: Upon waking up, Krok finds himself in the clutches of the Decepticon Justice Division and tries to find answers.<br>DISCLAIMER: None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and the fact that the Scavengers don't receive nearly enough attention as they ought to.

NOTE: This story has been proofread by many people, including my friends Mindy and Ty. Thank you both for all of your feedback; it would not be what it is without either of you. I also want to acknowledge evilcleverdog on tumblr for your brilliant idea for the Shattered Glass variations of the DJD and letting me use your idea.

* * *

><p>As he comes to, this time he doesn't feel like he's in quite so much pain. In fact, he feels almost weightless. Gradually, he realizes that he's in some kind of bubbling bath, a mixture of oil and light solvent that bears a scent of freshness.<p>

The last thing he remembers is being rescued by his crew. Why the hell is he in a bath?

Optics come online sharply and he tries to sit up, but he immediately finds himself groaning in pain.

A pair of hands ease him back down to sit back. "Please try to relax, Krok."

That's Helex's voice. Those are Helex's hands. He's sitting in Helex's chamber.

Krok's optics widen and he tries to struggle, but he quickly figures out three things: (A) he's still not strong enough to stand on his own, (B) the chamber is not melting him, and (C) his chest has been recently welded back together.

Puzzled, Krok peers down and reluctantly settles into the other's grasp. The hold relaxes until it's apparent that Helex is just supporting his weight and not forcing him down or harming him. What are they waiting for, exactly? Krok attempts to exhale through his vents, wincing at the way they rattle. Tipping his head back, he observes through the steam of the bath the interior of the building he's in.

It's quite plush, to his surprise. As if the person who arranged the interior truly means for it to be a serene and comfortable place to relax in. In the background, he can hear some soothing music playing somewhere, a light and soft tune. That along with the bath he's currently sitting in, Krok would almost believe it, but this has got to be some kind of trick. Still, he does recall that specifically Misfire and the others did choose to bring him to the D.J.D., but this hardly what he expected.

Better to remain suspicious. Krok would keep his guard up if that was possible.

Then he hears an all too familiar voice: "Comfortable, I hope?"

Letting out a startled groan, Krok turns his head sharply to spot source of the voice. A large and looming tank; that much hasn't changed about him. Instead of a traditional Decepticon purple, it's now a vibrant red that's coloring him. Krok absolutely wishes that he was dreaming or hallucinating, but the aching pain in his body makes that idea impossible. No matter what he can do, he's still face with him: Tarn, leader of the Decepticon Justice Division.

"Oh, Krok. How terrible it is to see you like this," Tarn purrs softly, clearly in some mockery of gentleness. His fingers curl under Krok's chin, carefully tipping his face up, and he doesn't have the ability to jerk away. "I'm not thrilled to go out of order on the List, but I would hate to waste this opportunity."

Krok feels himself tremble. Helex's hand lightly rubs his back, the contact gentle and Krok cannot fathom why.

"Now might be a good time to calm him down," Helex suggests. "He's getting restless."

The glow of Tarn's optics increase slightly. Krok does not like that look. "A good thought. Please, do listen carefully."

This is it. This is the moment. Krok would be a fool to not know about Tarn's ability, to sink his voice into his spark and play with it until it gives up on him, until he dies horribly. There is no escape, and he will perish. He can't brace himself, all he can do is wait as he hears Tarn give a musical hum. The beginning of the end in a hideously charming melody. His mind reels and he wonders what he could have done to his crew to have them make this choice. They went through so much effort to save him, only to subject him to death. Was it really to just save their own plating? He can't believe that, but why else? _Why?!_

It doesn't barge into the pulses of his spark, but rather slowly edges in, as if Tarn somehow doesn't intend to harm. Yet, as his vocals increase, pain shoots through his body, increasing it tenfold, and Krok can't stop himself from giving a burst of pained sounding white noise.

Tarn immediately stops and, for some reason, looks perplexed.

"Easy, easy," Helex tries to hush Krok. Two pairs of hands work over his plating, fingers working their way into gaps of armor and creases. Much to Krok's surprise it would be a relaxing massage, but he'd much rather just not have Helex touching him at all. "What do you think that was, Tarn?"

"Erm. I'm admittedly unsure," Tarn says, looking a little ashamed. "I'll fetch Vos. Perhaps he'd be better suited to assist." He steps away, out of sight.

_Vos?_ Krok shudders at the memory of that particular member of the D.J.D. The grating voice struggling to speak a basic language, hissing and planting his _face_ onto Krok's-

The historian struggles, trying to stand up, but Helex holds him back. He growls instinctively when he feels a thumb roll over his back. Is Helex really trying to relax him? Is that why he received a _massage_ earlier?

He goes still as he hears a new pair of footsteps approaching the bath. Warily, he starts to look up, and Krok quickly finds himself freezing in place as his eyes lock on with the other Decepticon's. Vos stands there over him, studying him almost curiously. Like everyone else he's run into today, the paint job Vos wears is quite different, most of him a gleaming white with black accents. Much like the rest of the D.J.D., his optics are a brilliant blue.

Wordlessly, Vos reaches out for Krok. Immediately, Krok flinches back, huffing nervously through his vents, trying uselessly to fight off Helex in order to get away. Vos hesitates, tilting his head before standing upright.

The slim Decepticon gives a slight bow and speaks in a smooth voice, "Scavengers Leader Krok. It would be an honor for you to wear my face, more the pleasure if Helex did not have to hold you in place."

Even if Krok could speak, he has no idea what he would say right now. Didn't Vos have a difficult time with common language? Why the sudden change?

There's a click and the face is removed. Krok vents harder, struggling to contain any inclination of fear and failing. All too quickly, he feels himself panicking, and although Helex does try to soothe him with gentle pats down his back it doesn't help. Not now, not ever. Krok shakes his head, choking out static desperately as he tries to plead for them to not do this. With a despaired noise, Krok stares helplessly as Vos approaches, ready to seat his face into Krok's once again. Yet, as it turns and Krok sees a brief glimpse inside, it's not the spiraling thorns ready to tear his face apart that it was before. He isn't sure what it is exactly, but when it gently clings to his face, he can feel himself slowly become repaired.

"Replenishing scraplets work to repair the damage done. Once completed, the pain should be none," Vos assures, voice smooth and not at all flinching in his ridiculous rhymes.

Yet, he finds it to be true; the pain is going away and he feels better. Not quite 100% yet, but hell of an improvement in comparison to when Tarn had found him. With care clearly in mind, Vos reaches out and takes caution as he slowly removes the face in order to clip it back onto his own helm.

"What in the Pit is all of this?" Krok finally manages to croak out for the first time in what seems like hours. The repairs on his helm were successful, ironically thanks to Vos.

"You are our honored guest," Tarn informs him gently. "One of our Listed. Vos, would you like to remind him? Perhaps that's what he needs."

A little half-bow is provided by Vos before he continues with, "Scavengers Leader Krok. The Decepticon Justice Division must find all those on our List; the task for us is to find, repair, soothe, and assist. The most dangerous of our army is clearly in need, so we find them and bring them for relaxation indeed. So has been determined by the D.J.D."

The rhyming is still offputting, weird, and bugs him, but Krok just lets it go. Okay. Fine. So somehow, the D.J.D. decided that people on their List aren't going to be executed, but rather they needed to be cared for? Put that with the new paint jobs and behaviors, and Krok isn't sure what to make of all this, but the same could be said for his own crew at this point.

"So you're not going to murder me," Krok attempts to determine. The mere suggestion seems to bring a shock to most of their expressions and he can feel Helex flinch. Right, then. "I'll take that as a no."

"Do you take us for Autobots?" The tone of voice that Helex uses doesn't imply that he's offended. Instead, he sounds more saddened than anything else. That's downright bizarre.

Damn it. He really should not be feeling even the slightest bit guilt, but this is almost convincing. "No, just. This isn't really filling in any of my expectations."

"Considering the accident before with my voice, I can't say that I really blame you. Usually when I sing, it puts people to sleep; inducing pain was far from my mind, Krok." Tarn kneels down to address Krok more personally. "You should know me better than that."

"Should I," is spoken flatly with no question by Krok, a skeptical look given to Tarn. Piece by piece, he tries to put everything together into his head from what he's learned so far. Okay. First thing's first: figure out where, exactly, he is. "Am I on Cybertron?"

Tarn nods in confirmation. "Correct."

That shouldn't even be remotely right. He should be on a forgotten moon with his crew and a leftover science project from Shockwave. That's where he should be. Instead, he's here, with the D.J.D, they're acting strange and their paintjobs are off and why are their badges red, and-

Krok sighs and rubs his forehead. Where to even begin with this? He remembers strangely finding red Decepticon badges in Shockwave's lab, but he isn't even sure if that's relevant. Maybe the badges are linked to mind control or- or something else. Either way, Krok can't make any strong conclusions. Not on his own.

"Where's my crew?" Krok asks a bit warily. He still isn't sure how to feel about them turning him in to Tarn and the others, but on the other hand he hasn't been tortured by them. Yet.

Tarn tilts his head. "They're currently being attended to by Kaon. They were more concerned about you."

There's a noise, like someone trying to clear their throat. All optics immediately turn towards Tesarus, who stands towering above all of them but peeking out sheepishly from the doorway. His plating is a gleaming bright blue, polished to perfection while his strange X-shaped optics are more of a softer color by comparison. The grinder in the middle of Tesarus's abdomen is completely gone, leaving what looks like mesh cloths and other mechanisms that don't quite look like they're meant for torture. Despite his height he looks mildly uncomfortable before he's kneeling down. As if on cue, Vos approaches him and tips his head in. It looks like Tesarus is almost shyly whispering to him. Eventually, Vos nods, indicating he got the message.

Vos addresses Tarn with, "Most respected leader Tarn. Our next guest has finally knocked upon our door. Now is the time to see if we can find out more. So speaks Tesarus."

"Ah, very good. Please show him in, Vos." Tarn offers his hand to Krok. "Do you have the strength to see your team right now?"

Narrowing his eyes in determination, Krok braces a hand against the edge of the bath. He bats away Helex's hands, stepping over the rim instead and ignoring Tarn's assistance. He stares at Tarn and says, "Always."

"This way, then." Tarn gestures for Krok to follow him, waiting patiently for the Scavengers commander to slowly limp after him. While it frustrates Krok, he can't go any faster and he absolutely will not take the _help_ that Tarn would offer him.

Walking behind Krok, startlingly, are both Tesarus and Vos. The heavy steps are startling, but when Krok glances over his shoulder it almost looks like Tesarus is trying to hide behind Vos while they walk. Krok doesn't know what to make of it, but he's glad to see them take a turn in the hallway that splits off from himself. Still, it leaves him with Tarn, which isn't that great either.

Eventually, Tarn and Krok reach a pair of double doors. While most facilities are straight forward and plain, the doors are elegantly crafted with expensive tastes. It feels like whoever made them constructed it with a lot of love.

Tarn pushes the doors open.

Immediately, the sight that Krok takes in is something that he isn't sure how to add up. In one corner of the room, he can see Deadlock and Fulcrum wrestling and from his perspective it appears that Fulcrum is actually winning currently. Misfire lacks an expression, focusing instead on typing on his datapad and attempting to ignore his surroundings. Krok is able to spot Kaon; instead of his almost rustic look from his memories, instead he looks more silvery and lightly purple. Kaon's hand is interlinked with Crankcase while they chatter to each other. Behind them, Spinister appears to be trying to hoard the treats left out on a tray all to himself.

All at once, everyone's eyes look up and notice that Krok is upright and walking, for the most part. Sheepishly, Crankcase jerks his hand away from Kaon's, Fulcrum grumbles and hauls Deadlock onto his feet, and Spinister completely drops all of the treats he had in his arms. Calmly, Misfire stands up.

"Captain," Misfire addresses him. "You look improved."

"At ease," Krok offers, a little amused and incredibly puzzled.

The command seems to make Misfire pause, his arm slowly sinking. From his rigid stance, he almost doesn't seem to know how to relax. Everyone else seems to settle much more easily, although Kaon is turns his head vaguely in Krok's direction, almost uncertain.

"I need to talk to my crew," Krok tells Tarn, not making anything else an option.

There's a nod in response. "Of course," Tarn responds. "Please, all of you, sit. I must say, this is certainly an honor, to have all of you finally in our clinic." The fact that Tarn says it so earnestly is still bizarre to Krok, but he's slowly starting to feel like it might be sincere. That and the word stands out to him. Clinic. _This is a clinic._ The D.J.D. run a _clinic._

After shaking his head and trying to digest this information, Krok lets out an irritated sigh. "All right. Everyone, sit down."

No one questions Krok's decision. When he says sit, everyone obeys, taking their seats with various expressions on their faces. Tarn looks positively pleased.

"Now - I hope you're all comfortable?" Tarn asks, sounding invested.

It's sort of a mixed bag, Krok is quickly determining. With the way the room is arranged, everyone is sitting in kind of a circle in some unusually luxurious chairs, and to his left is Misfire, sitting completely upright with his arms folded, giving Krok his full attention; Fulcrum is slouching with his leg crossed lazily over the other, but he looks incredibly ticked off to be here. Next to him, Deadlock just terribly amused, kind of a know-it-all expression that irrationally makes Krok want to punch him in the face - though he supposes that very well could be attributed to the fact that he shares the same frame and name as the traitor he remembers. To Krok's right, Crankcase looks positively delighted to be here, and Spinister seems to share the sentiment.

If the D.J.D. weren't involved? Krok thinks that, maybe, the reactions would be the complete opposite if everything was to his expectations. That Misfire would be cozying up in his chair with Fulcrum looking around curiously, while Spinister anxiously looking around and wanting to leave and Crankcase looking just as grumpy about it. But it's none of that. Everything is the opposite as he determines it.

While Krok thinks about the situation, he jerks when a small thing hops into his lap and he stares down warily. It looks kind of like Kaon's pet sparkeater, only less dangerous. Just about as drooly, though.

"What's with the...?" Krok gestures vaguely to the turbofox in his lap.

"Kaon rescued it from the Autobots sometime ago, and he's been acting as a theraputic addition to our treatment," Tarn explains. "Most of our Listed react very positively to his presence."

"Yeah, no. It's gotta go." Krok picks up the drooling critter, holding it out. Despite the fact that he's trying to get rid of the thing, the turbofox wags its tail excitedly.

"Sorry," Kaon says hastily, stumbling over to scoop up his pet from Krok's hands. "Sorry, I think he just likes you. Sorry."

Reassuring a member of the D.J.D. is definitely not something he ever expected to have to do. Krok sighs and holds up a hand. "Er. No harm done. Could you leave us for a few minutes?"

"Right, of course. Please, don't hesitate to call upon us if you need anything. I'll bring refreshments," Tarn informs them, bowing his head politely before he steps out of the room.

"Okay then." Krok exhales slowly and pinches the bridge of his nose. "First of all, I need to know how long I've been out. It must've been awhile, since we're back on Cybertron and all. And I'm assuming the war isn't as over as we thought, considering what happened at Garrus-2 and... and what's with the look you're all giving me?"

"Um. Captain, you feelin' okay?" Crankcase asks, rubbing the back of his head. "Hardly anyone's ever left Cybertron before. 'Cept maybe Elite Guard soldiers like Thunderwing."

Fulcrum scoffs and pulls out a new cy-gar. "And I'm pretty sure that we would've noticed the war taking a break."

"I thought you finished surgery on him after we got here," Misfire says coldly to Spinister.

The surgeon holds up his hands defensively. "I did! I so did. I sealed him up and I checked his other vitals and he's recovering real nicely! I swear!"

"I'm sure Spinister did his part," Krok says. "Misfire, back off. How long have I been out? Would someone answer that?"

There's a pause before Misfire picks up his datapad, scrolling through his notes. "Shortly after we lost sight of you during our last mission you were held by the Autobots for a time. We quickly organized and moved out to contact Pharma and locate you. You didn't end up unconscious until you began to react poorly to the idea of being taken to the D.J.D."

"Right, I think your panicking triggered you to pass out. The strain on top of your injuries was probably too much," Spinister adds softly. "Which was for only a few hours."

No. No, that doesn't make any sense. "Back at Shockwave's lab," Krok tries to remind them. "We were investigating it. Then I blacked out."

"Riiiiight. Shockwave would so totally have a lab, just like I would have a petro-rabbit farm!" Deadlock remarks, earning a swat from Fulcrum. "What? I thought my totally sarcastic response was endearing and charming!"

"We were at one of his labs, we were scavenging, there was information that Fulcrum was looking into. Someone give me a straight answer!" Krok stands up, frustrated. "I must have been out for a long time for all of you even be this way! Crankcase, your head's repaired and I have no idea where Spinister picked up this new attitude. Misfire, you can actually _aim_ and Fulcrum's never been eager for a fight before and I've _never_ added Deadlock to my crew! As a matter of fact, what did you all even do with Grimlock? He was our ticket no matter how things turned out!"

There's a brief moment of silence as the Decepticons in front of him consider how to respond. While Misfire frowns and dims his optics in thought, Crankcase and Spinister exchange concerned glances. Keeping his clouch, Fulcrum thoughtfully exhales out air from his mouth, puffing away on his cy-gar to the point of looking like a chimney. Deadlock looks almost entirely disinterested in the topic, shrugging and looking at the ceiling instead.

"Captain..." Crankcase starts, his voice soft. "Maybe it was First Aid. He's got a way with this kind of stuff. Convincing you of things."

At the name, Spinister goes rigid and Fulcrum snorts angrily, hissing out smoke. Deadlock tilts his head down, peering at Krok.

"I'm not making this up," Krok says, feeling a little desperate. Why, why are they looking at him like something's _off?_ They're the ones that are different!

Misfire rubs his chin. "Maybe it has something to do with his ember. What was it you said about it, Spinister?"

"What? That it was positron-charged?" Spinister replies, squinting thoughtfully.

"Clarify. And explain what an ember is," Krok orders as he struggles to reel in his frustration.

There's a moment of hesitation, then Spinister responds, "It's part of what allows us to function. The ember is our lifeforce, basically. Electron-charged as opposed to your unusually positron-charged state going on right now. So usually embers have a flame-like appearance, but yours almost seems... mm, electrified? Yeah, that's how I'll describe it! It's kinda fascinating, but at the same time, I'm really worried about how that must have happened to you."

Ember. They're calling _that_ an ember. "It's a spark," Krok adds, already starting to sense renewed exhaustion sinking in.

"Ohhh, that's such a good word for it!" Spinister claps his hands together. "Wow! Yeah, it's got a bit of zap to it. Anyway! A positron-charged, uh, spark if you will is so rare that it's just straight up never happened before. I mean, can you imagine trying to cram a positron charge and an electron charge at each other? The results would be not pretty, let me tell you!"

Krok snaps at him, interrupting, "What does this all even mean for me? My spark's never changed. This is who I am, who I've always been!"

A different voice cuts into the room: "Perhaps that's something that I can try to help look into."

Looking for the source of the voice, Krok very quickly finds it and his optics widen as he nearly stumbles back, not sure if he should run or not. A smart choice would be to shout for a retreat and to flee immediately, but it's hard to make any other decision when faced with someone like Overlord standing in the doorway with Tarn next to him.

Overlord is as large as he expects, but there is admittedly something about his presence that's different. Every time Krok's seen an image or a video concerning Overlord in the past, there's been an inkling of fear and regrettable respect but right now? Overlord almost makes him feel calm, which is a welcome difference considering all that's happened but it _still_ makes Krok wary. Appearance-wise, his frame looks very similar to the one he remembers, it's just that- well. He's certainly bright green with pink accents.

Cradled in one arm is some kind of bug thing with several glowing optics. It makes a soft purring noise, the careful strum of a tiny engine.

Tarn places a hand to Overlord's shoulder. "I know we were meant to reach out to Starscream, but he stated that he could not come out to us and expressed his deepest regrets. Instead, he sent his best protege to assist us in this matter. I believe you already know each other?"

"Vaguely," Krok grunts.

"I'm happy to become reacquainted with you, Krok," Overlord assures, his voice soft and disarming. "You haven't met my companion yet. Bob, perhaps you should introduce yourself."

Carefully, the creature is set down, and the thing called Bob starts to cautiously approach Krok. Much to Krok's better judgment, he thinks that maybe Bob is almost endearing.

He squints at Bob, but refuses to touch him.

"That's all right," Overlord assures without any inclination of offense. He gently picks up Bob back into his cradling hold. "At the very least, I'd like a moment to get some one-on-one time with Krok and get to know him better myself. Maybe run some tests if he's open to it. Do you have a private room somewhere?"

"Of course," Tarn replies.

"You expect me to be comfortable with being in a room _alone_ with Overlord," Krok states flatly, then looks at his crew for some help.

Misfire gestures to Overlord. "He's studied under several impressive minds, starting with Megatron himself when he still taught mathematics at the University of Crystal City. During the war, he's learned under Shockwave, Froid, and currently he's studying closely under Starscream's exclusive teachings. Overlord is someone I have no concerns about, especially if he comes with Starscream's recommendation. However, if you have misgivings about being alone in a room with him, any number of us would stand by at your side, Captain."

The door opens once more to interrupt the conversation with Vos and Tesarus stepping inside. In one of Tesarus's pair of arms he holds a large tray, filled with glasses of energon and other treats that, honestly, Krok cannot even fathom; he hasn't seen or had a real meal in years. Pausing for a moment, Tesarus leans down to softly whisper into Vos's auditory sensor. Once the message is done, Vos places his hand onto his chest and inclines his head slightly. "Honored guests of the D.J.D. I, that is Tesarus, would like to bring you a carefully crafted treat. It would be my, that is his, honor if you accepted, relaxed, and would eat. So says Tesarus."

"There Vos goes! Rhyme on a dime! It'd be way, way too long if I didn't hear it again," Deadlock says. Fulcrum seems to agree with a low grunt.

The treats on the tray seem to catch Spinister's attention, though, with his optics wide and glowing with interest. "Oh man! Are you serious?" He gets up, appearing to completely forget the issue at hand as he starts to reach for the tray, then stops as he looks at Krok hopefully. "Captain! Can I? Please?"

Krok exhales, not hiding his irritation. "All right. Help yourself."

"Thanks, Captain!" Spinister says pleasantly. "Why aren't we here more often, anyway?"

"Because we don't usually make the time for it," Fulcrum remarks, side-eyeing how Spinister and Crankcase gleefully snag what they can.

The brief pause allows Krok to mull over Misfire's suggestion as he looks over his crew. Faces that he'd grown fond of as he found them over the course of time, but their motivations are unknown to him now. True, they went through the effort of rescuing him, but he isn't sure what to anticipate. Not when they had decided to deposit him to the D.J.D.

On the other hand, Tarn and his team's behaviors respectively did not make much sense either. A lot of people have changed since he'd seen them last. He's growing increasingly desperate for answers, and if Overlord can help him, who else can he turn to? Then again, what he remembers of Overlord and the reports of what he'd done at Garrus-9 had been enough to turn the ingest tanks of most soldiers.

Who here could make him really feel an inch safer with Overlord? Crankcase apparently sympathizes with Pharma and seems close with Kaon and who knows who else, while Fulcrum is wildly unpredictable in his brash behavior. Deadlock is right out, which leaves Spinister and Misfire.

Spinister who apparently is so gleeful to stuff his face as soon as he can with treats and strange fluffy energon-based pastries, making an outright fool of himself.

Krok shakes his head. That really just leaves one, then. "Misfire. You come with me."

"Of course, Captain." Immediately, Misfire stands up sharply and smoothly salutes him.

"Very good. I'll take you to one of our private rooms," Tarn says.

Both Tarn and Overlord polite hold the double doors open for Krok, the chivalrous action a bit jarring to him to the point that it almost makes the war historian stumble. Krok coughs and just shuffles forward with Misfire following behind.

It's a short walk later down the hallway, and Tarn opens a door for the three of them plus Bob. "Be sure to inform me if you need anything. All of our equipment is available to you," Tarn informs Overlord.

"I'm always grateful to your continued assistance, Tarn." Overlord smiles warmly, placing a hand to Tarn's upper arm. "I promise to call for you."

Baffling. Truly baffling to see Tarn get along so _well_ with an infamous traitor, but at this point Krok just gives up in questioning it. Sure, Tarn and Overlord are best friends now. _Why the hell not._ Letting out an exhausted and wordless grumble, Krok shoves by the two of them into the room.

This room, like the others that Krok has seen so far, is just as plush and elegant. Personally, Krok doesn't see the point of having such a luxurious couch and he feels weird for sitting on it, but he says nothing as he tries to get comfortable. Overlord smiles to Tarn as he thanks him once more, and Misfire decides to stand behind the couch that Krok attempts (and fails at) relaxing on. It's a bit unnerving to have someone stand so stiffly behind him like that, but he did ask for Misfire out of everyone. No turning back from that.

As soon as Overlord enters the room he shuts the door behind himself before letting Bob scurry to the floor. He glances over Krok, then offers a faint smile. "Let me just make sure that I have this correct based on what I was told. Your last mission ended with some complications, which in turn caused First Aid to capture you and take you to Garrus-2. Your team immediately launches into a rescue attempt - ill-advised, but impressively loyal - and they successfully brought you back here for recovery. However, your ember-"

"Spark," Krok interrupts sourly.

Overlord pauses, then amends his statement, "Your spark is charged in a way that would be physically impossible for anyone else."

"I'd agree with your summary if I knew what this mission was that was mentioned," Krok answers, folding his arms.

"I can refresh your memory," Misfire volunteers. "We received a tip off that there was a bomb to disarm. It wasn't far from one of our site of operations, so it was necessary. You ordered Crankcase, Spinister, and Fulcrum onto the scene. Deadlock and I acted as back-up while you performed scouting on your own. Deadlock was the last to see you. As it turned out, the bomb was a dud. Crankcase was able to determine that there was a brief energy surge. It was quick, like a gunshot. We immediately set out to find you. Unfortunately, First Aid found you first."

"So you don't remember the mission at all?" Overlord asks, sounding deeply curious.

"No!" Krok growls, not bothering to hide his anger. "I don't know anything about this _mission_. I don't even know when Deadlock ever came back to the Decepticons! Or why everyone's acting like this or why _you_-" Krok points at Overlord "-are even welcome here without Tarn practically ripping your head off!"

"Captain," Misfire says quietly. While his voice has been usually distant and stand-offish for quite sometime now, it cracks a little at this moment. Krok almost feels guilty for losing his patience, but he's had enough of this nonsense.

"He's welcome to his questions and whatever he's feeling right now," Overlord says, holding up a hand as a gesture of assurance. "Krok, what would I have done to earn such anger from Tarn?"

"This is a waste of-" Krok huffs, clenching his hands into fists before he responds with, "You betrayed Megatron. You left the Decepticons. You made Garrus-9 your fragging _playground_ of slaughter. I saw some of the footage, and it was gruelling. You tortured and killed both factions."

There's a moment of silence in the room. Overlord frowns and rubs his chin, his optics dimming as he thinks and tries to process the information, as if the possibility of the _exact_ situation Krok explained to him just is too difficult to consider. Eventually, Overlord just nods, seemingly without judgment. "Tarn is one of the most patient, open-minded people I know. Do you think he's capable of killing me?"

"I know Tarn's capable of anything," Krok says, his tone of voice low. "Him and his lot are _infamous_ for how they execute who they claim to be traitors to the cause. If Tarn knows about your betrayal - and I'm sure he does - then he must've gone insane to just accept you as he does right now."

"Overlord, clearly Krok's gotten-" Misfire starts.

"_Don't_ say crazy," Krok snaps at him, silently afraid that maybe he's _going_ a little mad at this point.

"Confused," Misfire suggests instead, giving Krok a sympathetic look. "Whatever experiments that First Aid did to him must have caused this strange result in his ember, which is causing him memory loss and memories of things that just never happened. I wouldn't put it past First Aid to even make the physical changes in him with the paint swap and the optical replacement. He's done very similar things before to Fulcrum and many others." That catches Krok's attention, making him turn his head to look at Misfire. There's a moment in which Misfire looks a little more worn, a little more sorrowful. Now is not a good opportunity to ask. Misfire shakes his head and returns to his more cold personality so he can ask Overlord, "What can we do for Krok?"

"I'm not prepared to jump to conclusions yet." Overlord slowly approaches Krok, kneeling down in front of the much smaller soldier. "Not until I have all the facts. Krok, I would like to run some tests. I have a theory, but I need more data before I can prove it. I want your permission to take a sample of your fuel lines and to run a scan of your protoform. It'll be as non-invasive as possible. Do I have your permission?"

This is absurd, Krok keeps telling himself. This whole thing, that he won't be believed on what he knows. But he's sincerely afraid that maybe Misfire is somehow right, and it makes him bitter to think that. Maybe his memories are made up. Maybe he's going insane. That, or everyone else is.

However, if Overlord can somehow find an answer, then Krok is prepared to give him whatever he wants. More than anything, he honestly just wants things back the way they were. He misses the warmth of his crew, the one in his memories. How ridiculous Misfire is with no ability to stay still or stay focused yet has such a skill when it comes to scavenging and finding fuel for the team, Crankcase's more familiar grunts and grumpiness but making sure Krok wasn't pushing it the way he habitually does, the amicable nature Fulcrum naturally has and how scared and brave he was at the same time, and Krok even misses Spinister's paranoia and how Krok had to explain to him over and over the state of affairs and assure him that everything was going to be okay.

Krok just wants all of that back so, so badly. Something familiar, something welcoming, even if it means living off of scraps for the rest of his life.

"Yes," Krok answers finally. "You do."

Overlord smiles kindly, giving a light touch to Krok's elbow. "It shouldn't be long. Hold still."

A needle extends from Overlord's finger. Quick and precise, it presses between plating in Krok's arm and into a fuel line before automatically withdrawing a sample of energon. Once the sample's been obtained, Overlord withdraws his hand before standing up.

"Misfire, please move over," Overlord requests, gesturing once before starting to key in commands to his wrist.

Politely, Misfire steps away from Krok, giving him some space. A yellow scanning light extends from Overlord's wrist, passing over Krok. A small frown forms on Overlord's face before he types in a different command. The light turns green and waves over Krok's body once again. After a tilt of his head, another bout of typing occurs from Overlord before the color of the light shifts to blue. Once it scans over Krok, Overlord finally looks satisfied.

"Give me a moment to analyze these results." Overlord lets out a soft chuckle. "The first few attempts were... interesting. At first I couldn't even find any life signs from you."

"Similar thing happened to First Aid back in Garrus-2. They were trying to pull a medical summary, but it wasn't working." Krok taps his faceplate. "Didn't think much of it at the time. What with the situation and all."

"Perfectly understandable," Overlord assures as he focuses on the screen displaying on his wrist. "Your energon sample isn't entirely different from your spark. It's also infused with a positron charge, but it's much more faint. For example, drinking an electron-charged sample of energon wouldn't hurt you. It's automatically changed as soon as you start digesting it, so you're safe on that account. Your fuel line results seem malnourished otherwise, either due to lifestyle or the charge itself. Hard to say."

"Lifestyle. Not my decision," Krok mutters. Filtering and refiltering whatever mixtures Misfire puts together is just the safest way to consume the liquids during their scavenging ventures.

Overlord nods, indicating he's listening. "Your scan results are certainly interesting. First Aid wouldn't have any reason to be looking for anything outside of your medical status for his own interests. Our scanners just aren't constructed to look for your kind of charge because it's never existed in the way it does until now. So, I went a little deeper. I went looking at your frame structure, a saganical scan, and x-ray."

"Which means what?" Krok asks.

"One moment." Overlord turns his wrist, projecting a hologram of information for Krok. The imagery is his own protoform and the framing around it, as well as textual data based on the scan, but most of it is honestly science jargon that's difficult for him to follow. "The frame structure is a little different than the last time we had a medical report on you. Spinister regularly updates his medical reports once a week, considering how often your crew goes into difficult missions. The last medical report we had on you was three days ago along with everyone else's health summaries. First Aid has skill in changing physical bodies, this is true. How long did he have Krok in his facility?"

"No more than two hours, maximum," Misfire responds.

Overlord nods. "It takes much more time to make these intricate changes. Your spark and whatever potential optical replacement and paint jobs aside, we're talking about things like your smaller canopy and the sudden reinstallation of your t-cog. Your casing is also on the wrong side of your body. The opposite, actually. Those kinds of changes would take far too long. Now, about the results of the saganical scan."

A few buttons are pressed, and Krok is faced with a summary of something about saganical... particles? Must be related to the scan, because honestly he'd never heard of such a scan before anyway. Krok shrugs helplessly, not understanding what he's reading.

"These particles are unique. Related, actually, to long-distance space travel. I remember reviewing similar samples when Starscream was showing me some readings he caught off of Thunderwing once." Overlord kneels down and absently pets Bob on the head. "Usually, those are degrassion particles. Related to the kinds of engines that power Thunderwing's methods of transportation. Rare, but something we've recorded. Now, saganical particles are a little different. They're... mm, how can I put this? Where degrassion particles have to do with space, saganical particles have to do with space-time-dimension. I've seen a few rare readings before while working on projects with Starscream and Jetfire. Back when Jetfire was still a Decepticon, anyway."

"Right," Krok says, mostly following along. "What does any of that mean?"

Overlord almost looks sheepish for not getting to the point a little faster. "Some several years ago, I scanned readings very similar to yours off of someone else. His name was Spanner." Krok frowns, trying to remember where he'd heard that name before. "Spanner was... a good friend. A fellow student under Starscream. Spanner was invested in finding a way to travel through outer-space with more ease than Thunderwing's methods. He was trying to invent his stellar-spanner - not the most humble of names, but he was rightfully brilliant - so we could travel immediately from one location to the next. Then, one day, he looked a little different. Acted a little different. The badge was purple."

"Spanner. Spanner. That name... it was the same name as one of the assistants at Shockwave's lab!" Krok snaps his fingers. That was it!

"This might be where our stories connect." Overlord turns off his holographic display. "Spanner seemed to babble nonsense at first. He told us that we lost our minds, that we weren't the real military. When he ran off, I tried to follow him, but the Autobots reached him before I could. The only other thing that I have to link to this was one of the first displays of the saganical particles off of him. Other instances have been rare; I've only found corpses with faint readings and they were few and far in between. Some Autobot, some Decepticon, some neither."

"I don't have much else to add. Before I woke up here on Cybertron, I was in one of Shockwave's labs. Old, abandoned, but we hoped to make some use of it." Krok shrugs. "Fulcrum was trying to retrieve data on what the lab was used for. He mentioned Shockwave's assistants: Spanner and Astroscope. Similar I assume, to do with galactic travel and whatnot. Couldn't tell you more. I blacked out before Fulcrum could locate more data."

Overlord puts his fist into his other hand's palm. "This isn't a coincidence, and you're the first person I've found alive with this amount of saganical readings. This tells me one important thing, Krok, so listen carefully. You aren't from Cybertron. Not this one. You're from another universe _entirely._"

That's alarming, suffice it to say. Krok isn't sure if he's ready to quite believe it. He stares, sinking in his chair a little, trying to wrap his mind around that conclusion.

"That's ludicrous. Why didn't we hear anything about these _particles_ before?" Misfire asks skeptically.

"Because I never had so much data before! Everyone but Starscream and myself were ready to write off Spanner as having a breakdown." Overlord scoops Bob back into his arm. "Think about it. It makes sense. The things you claim that I did or that Tarn would do? Those are the _exact opposite_ of what we're even remotely capable of. I'm a pacifist by nature, and Tarn only defends himself if he has no other choice. Your casing for your spark is on the _opposite_ side of where it should be, and your charge is the opposite of what's medically possible."

"Let me..." Krok trails off and holds up his hand. "Let me think about this for a moment."

It seems like it makes sense. Maybe. It just might have this whole thing figured out, why his entire crew is acting so wildly different than their usual personalities. Krok is prepared to deny it, of course, but he knows alternative universes exist. It just doesn't explain how he ended up here. It came out of no where.

But what else makes sense? That he's insane? That everyone else is insane? None of that is right. No, his memories _are_ correct. If Overlord is as good as others have claimed, this has to be it. It would explain why the D.J.D. were trying to be helpful and comforting as they were, as well as everyone else he's run into. Maybe whatever Shockwave was working on in that old lab is related to this somehow.

"How do I get home?" Krok asks suddenly, feeling an awkward pit in the bottom of his fuel tanks start to develop. He was homesick before, now it's abruptly far worse.

"I- hm." Overlord frowns. "I'm afraid that I don't know, Krok. I'm sorry."

A whole universe away from what he truly knows. From people he knows. His team, his crew. Krok slumps in his chair, starting to feel helpless. Is he stuck here, then? Is that it?

"Krok," Overlord says softly, resting a hand to the historian's shoulder. "I really, truly am sorry. I got carried away in my rant."

"No." Krok shakes his head. "You... you did your part. You helped me figure out what's really going on here. Now I need to figure out how to undo this mess."

"Similarly, if Overlord is correct, then we need to find our captain. Our Krok," Misfire points out. "Our goals are tied together. I think it would be in your best interest to remain with us for the time being until then."

"He isn't wrong," Overlord offers, trying to console Krok. "Misfire and the rest of the crew are loyal to the Decepticons, and ten times as much to their captain. You might not be him, but they can help you."

Krok frowns, bitterly wanting to reject the help. They aren't _his_ crew and he certainly isn't going to go about replacing them with these stand-ins. He shuts off his optics and focuses on cycling air, in and out, trying to relax.

Refusing their help won't get him home any closer. That's just stupid pride, and pride is what kills many good soldiers. No, Krok needs to play this smart. If he's going to find a way back, he has to put up with this team for awhile until then. Overlord's right. Misfire's right.

"Then I guess we got some planning to do," Krok responds gruffly.

"That's the spirit," Overlord responds, smiling broadly. "I'll do everything I can to help. For now, it might be good to put everything we've learned together and talk to the rest of the Scavengers."

"Suppose it would be." Krok finally rises from his chair, starting to feel some renewed determination. He's still angry with the situation, furious that he's been put into this position. More far away from his team than he thought was possible. However, he's prepared to do his best to make everything right.

A little bit more worrying in the back of his mind, he can only imagine what kind of trouble his actual crew is in.

Wait a minute. Misfire has a point. If he's here...

Where's this universe's Krok? Where did he go?

* * *

><p><strong>Primax 1005.19 Gamma<br>Shockwave's Old Lab (one of many)**

"Get down and transform twenty times, soldiers!" the unusually colored Krok snaps at the crew in front of him. "I'm embarrassed to even look at your plating right now, scrapheaps!"

That earns a nervous laugh from Fulcrum who raises his hand warily. "Uh, but I can't transform easily unless I jump off a high place. Uh, sir!"

"Then I guess I'm kickin' you off the ship twenty times plus ten for the backtalk, Chintron!" Krok barks at him.

"Y'know, Krok is a little more intense than I remember him being," Misfire says, cringing.

* * *

><p><strong>Primax -408.24 Epsilon<br>The Decepticon Justice Division's Clinic**

The explanation is not simple to go through and explain. To offer his support, Overlord keeps his hand steady to Krok's shoulder. With the situation as it is, Krok takes as many friends as he can get right now. Fortunately, Misfire and Overlord primarily relay the report.

The strongest and loudest reaction is from Fulcrum, who looked bored at first but progressively started to look angrier and angrier before he suddenly looked furious. Standing up suddenly, Fulcrum growls and swiftly kicks his chair aside, causing it to smash into the wall and leaving cracks from the impact. Tearing the cy-gar from his mouth, Fulcrum crushes it and storms up to Krok, eyes practically ablaze. The reaction's not exactly what Krok was expecting, but honestly he isn't sure _what_ exactly he was anticipating.

"What the hell did you do with him?!" Fulcrum snarls in his face. "If you aren't _him_, then what good are you, bub?"

"C'mon, Commander Manpain!" With a sigh, Deadlock hops to his feet from his chair and snags Fulcrum by the arm. "If you get all riled up, might be _tick tick tick boom_ for all of us, eh? Be kind of counter-productive and all. Just might blast us to the fourth dimension, then we'd be in all kinds of hilarious trouble. Since we're speaking about dimensions and all."

Fulcrum yanks his arm free. "Shut it, Deadlock! You know I'm right. This _fake_ isn't going to do us any good!"

"Fulcrum, maybe-" Spinister starts, then laughs nervously when Fulcrum glares at him. "Haha, nope! Just kidding! Look at me, I'm off to go not argue with you!" He shuffles away quickly to crouch behind Crankcase.

Krok scowls and takes a step forward to deal with this confrontation. "Trust me, I didn't ask to be here. I didn't _ask_ First Aid to take me to his base and make someone saw me open! I didn't ask to be taken away from _my_ crew, either!"

"Cry me a damned river," Fulcrum growls. "We've all had a little taste of his sense of fun. You got a sample of what he's capable of."

"Now c'mon, ain't no reason to start such a fuss," Crankcase tries his hand at calming the situation.

Fulcrum whirls to face him. "It's plenty of reason! It's his fault Krok's gone, and I want answers!"

"You aren't the only one," Krok tells him sternly. "You think I want to be here?"

"I don't _care_ what you want!" Fulcrum hisses.

Having enough, Krok steps forward and grabs Fulcrum by one of the wings on his back. "Do you think I'm ignorant just because First Aid shuffled _your_ parts around? Had his _fun?_ A little bit of chainsaw to the chest nothing in comparison to you? Get down from your pedestal and listen to me _now_ and settle down!" he shouts, the next few words spoken by running on instinct. "That's an order!"

Fulcrum's eyes widen briefly, then he narrows them and jerks himself away from Krok. He doesn't say anything, not at the moment, but Krok can still see the fury burn in his eyes. That won't be dying anytime soon.

Krok lets out a heavy exhale of air, rubbing his forehead. That was undoubtedly a low blow he took. Honestly, he doesn't even know exactly what happened to Fulcrum in the past in this dimension, but it seems to have hit home. Misfire mentioned it previously, likely not realizing that Krok _doesn't_ know. Just another fact to brush over at the time.

He shakes his head and addresses the rest of the crew. "Listen. We don't have to be friends. That's fine with me. I'm not interested in _being_ friends. I want to go back to where I belong, and you want your captain. It's a simple choice. Help me get out of here, and we'll find your missing commander."

There's a moment of silence between all of them. Crankcase considers a moment, glancing over his shoulder at Spinister. Eventually, he looks back at Krok and says, "I'm in. I mean, you aren't our Krok, but I ain't gonna leave you stranded. Not in the least."

"Oh yeah! Plus, it's gonna be an awesome adventure!" Spinister pipes up. "Or, well, I'm sure it will be."

"Eh, whatever. Count me in or something," Deadlock says flatly, shrugging. "But not to burst anyone's super invested bubble? Where do we start? I mean, who the smelt is gonna know anything about satanical-"

"Saganical," Overlord interjects as politely as possible.

"Whateverical whatsits? Besides big and nerdy over here." Deadlock gestures vaguely in Overlord's direction. "What do we even do? Put a _missing_ label on every bottle of engex with our Krok's picture slapped on it?"

Misfire folds his arms. "I suppose that I might prefer to think back on this. On when we lost track of our captain."

"During that mission?" Krok asks.

"Right. I mentioned we got a tip off for the mission. Typically, we receive tips of information from a source. From the Cicle of Light," Misfire answers. "We don't hold many other leads right now. There might be our best option to begin with. If they can tell us where they got their tip from, then that can be one step closer to you getting back to where you belong, and us finding the right Krok."

There's a moment of hesitation from Krok, and he thinks back a little. During that brief time he was in Garrus-2, how First Aid was taunting him with information. _It was one of your own that caused you to be here._ Does that mean the Circle of Light, or the Decepticons? More specifically, this crew?

"That might be a good start," Krok says stiffly. "Right. A good start."

Misfire gives him a peculiar look before he addresses the rest of the crew, "Then this is your mission. With our captain missing, command falls to me for now. We will start together with the Circle of Light, and see where that takes us. Scavengers, replenish your supplies. We depart in an hour."

A few seconds roll by, as if the crew doesn't quite know how to motivate itself at first. Then, there are mumbles of confirmation before they disperse. While Spinister and Crankcase start to quickly chat it up between each other cheerfully as they go to work, Fulcrum shoots Krok a final angry glare while Deadlock just wears an indifferent smirk as they pass by.

Krok watches them go, but relief doesn't settle in. Not even close.

"Excellent. I'm glad you have a beginning point," Overlord says, sounding relieved.

"Yeah." Krok pauses, then gestures for Overlord and Misfire. "You two. I need to talk to you. Aside from everyone else."

Misfire tilts his head. "Very well. I may not be your second-in-command technically, but I am here to help you."

Misfire. As his second-in-command. It's an amusing thought, but Krok has to be make a choice. He has to decide if he can really count on him. Eventually, Krok lets out an unsteady vent of air before finally coming clean.

"When I was in Garrus-2, First Aid said something. Something about how one of us was the reason why I was captured." Krok shakes his head. "I don't know. Maybe he was saying that to get under my plating. But it might help explain a little while your Krok is missing if there's a traitor."

"It would be very easy to write it off as that. That maybe he wanted to cause discord in this team." Misfire shakes his head. "But, he had no plans that we know of that would mean he expected you to successfully escape so he would probably only say it if he meant it. The truth can be harsher than we want it to be, but I also have no reason to believe that we have a traitor in our company."

"I did mention your crew- rather, our Krok's crew was incredibly loyal. Did I not?" Overlord says.

Krok shakes his head. "Look, it's plausible. I don't want to believe it, but if it is true, we should take it seriously. Besides, how loyal could _Deadlock_ be?"

"I see." Misfire, for all of his lack of expressions, appears thoughtful. "If I may offer a perspective: if everything here is the opposite of your expectations, perhaps so should your distrust of him? I recognize his violent nature, but it hardly matches others I could name in the Decepticon military. Besides, you stated earlier how Overlord is a traitor where you're from, and I certainly would never accuse him of even considering to betray anyone's trust."

Krok scowls, honestly not sure if he can appreciate Misfire's defense of his teammate or be irritated by it. Despite the fact that it has to do with Deadlock, he begrudgingly appreciates Misfire's polite and tactful rebuttal. It's appropriate.

"You might have a point," Krok relents reluctantly. His instincts still say to be wary of Deadlock, but the fact is that he can't rely on that right now. Not when everything is so _swapped._ "Maybe it's not him."

"It might be good just to keep your wits about you. Maybe First Aid really was just trying to agitate you, maybe he wasn't. Just know you can rely on me. I may not be a fighter, but I don't turn my back on those who need me," Overlord promises.

"Feels a bit odd to say this, but thank you, Overlord." Krok nods. "That means a lot."

"And I appreciate your consultation with me," Misfire adds in quietly. "For now, I think we should keep it to ourselves. There's enough confusion as it is anyway."

"That's fair." Krok would honestly probably make a similar choice anyway if it had to do with his own personal crew. "Suppose right now I should help with acquiring supplies?"

"Come on." Overlord places his hand onto Krok's shoulder. "I'll take you to Tarn and we'll see if he can help with that."

That much Krok thinks he can count on.


End file.
